


Dragon Heart

by RocLammergeier



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, M/M, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:49:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 192,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocLammergeier/pseuds/RocLammergeier
Summary: There is more to the Unknown Regions than anyone could have known.  Including Revan, prodigal knight, savior to the Republic.  But her erased past hides secrets that threaten her world and the world of Thedas, a planet she had exploited in her quest to defeat the Mandalorian invasion.  Now, seeking to set her wrongs right, she returns to the world where she committed her greatest crime in the hopes that perhaps it won't be too late.But the Blight isn't the only thing she has to fix.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this many many many long years ago, before Dragon Age: Inquisition came out. Surprisingly, I actually got a few things close. However, that means that there are a few things I mention early that are not quite accurate. These, like many things in game, do end up being corrected or ammended later, so patience. This story is set to go through all three games. It mentions the events in the books and comics (eventually). I don't want to give too much away, but I try to foreshadow to keep it interesting. However, going through all three games means that a lot of things are as they are in the games, and I am currently still in Dragon Age: Origins. I will try to make it lively, but in the past I have gotten the comment, "Where is this story even going anymore?" Well, dear reader, it is going somewhere, just slowly. I promise. There is much that will happen and be explained, all in due time. There may be some major changes to later games. There may even be some changes to how I explain the Force coexisting with the Fade. I hope you enjoy my little pet project.  
> Also, please comment to tell me what you like/dislike. I do appreciate it.

Act I: Malachor V

It was impossible to leave the past behind. Even when that past had been erased.

The past came back to haunt Revan when her fingers deftly entered hyperspace coordinates she couldn't remember ever seeing, nonetheless entering, in her life. It haunted her when her feet followed familiar paths on planets she didn't remember ever visiting. It haunted her when her brain translated languages she couldn't remember learning. It haunted her when people that she didn't know nodded in recognition when they passed her. It haunted her in her dreams, waking and sleeping, when all she could think of was Carth. She was starting to go a little crazy.

It had been months since Revan had left him standing in the docking bay on Telos, where she had boarded the _Ebon Hawk_ and left to find the evil that plagued her nightmares and the galaxy. She closed her eyes, remembering his solemn gaze as she mournfully ascended the ramp and the tears that their parting had brought to her eyes. Revan had betrayed him again, leaving him behind, perhaps forever. No words had been spoken in their last embrace, but they both realized it might be the last embrace they ever shared. But, she needed to find this evil, if only to protect him.

The only companions she had brought with her were T3-M4, her faithful mechanic droid, and HK-47, her assassin droid and one of her best friends, if a droid could be considered a friend. For some reason, his cynical comments always made her smile, especially when he called the idiots they encountered on their journey "meatbags." The rest of her friends, Jolee, Juhani, Canderous, Mission, Zalbaar, and Bastila, had no idea where she was going. However, Revan knew Bastila had ordered T3-M4 to keep an eye on her, and most likely to get help if she got in trouble, which she probably would. Eventually.

She had left Telos and immediately sought the Mandalorians. Even though they distrusted outsiders, especially the Jedi, she had had a hunch that they knew something about the threat, the Sith, that no one else knew, something that had caused them to attack the Republic. And she had been right. After months proving herself worthy, she had met with Mandalore the Ultimate's son. He had told her all the events leading up to the Mandalorian War, including how his father had left for one of the systems beyond Mandalorian space. Thus, her wild chase around the galaxy had begun.

On the last world she had visited, some Weequay pirates had informed her that Darth Revan, her former identity, often traveled to a remote planet in an Unknown System. They had no other information than that, not even the name of the planet. Just as she was about to leave for one of several systems, an old, decaying, mute Weequay had approached her. He had drawn her a picture of a small world, smaller than some moons, that was dark and foreboding. She had known the planet immediately: Malachor V.

"Malachor V is where Revan went?" she asked.

The elder had nodded, understanding despite his fragmented verbal skills.

Revan had then bowed respectfully. "Thank you, my friend. I shall never forget your kindness."

He stared after the mysterious Jedi as she returned to her ship. And now, the Jedi stood on the desolate, dark surface of the choked planet of Malachor V. Revan had no idea what evil could still be on Malachor V. Certainly the ancient Sith, which she believed was the evil, wouldn't be living in the forsaken graveyard. The surface of the planet had been virtually destroyed in one of the last battles of the war. And it had been her fault. Revan hadn't realized how… _evil_ she had been. From her understanding, it had been a brilliant, if not a cold and calculating tactical move that had all but eliminated her enemies, both Mandalorian and Republic. After that, the planet had been avoided. Whatever had been here, Sith or something else, it was probably gone.

Malachor V was a physical embodiment of the Dark Side. Even if there was nothing here now, she could understand how servants of the Dark Side, such as the Sith, would want to live here. When she had landed on the surface, every step had become an effort. The gravity here was stronger than on any other planet she had visited. She had climbed up some fallen rocks, and now she stood, surveying the landscape. The land was broken, cut by jagged, deep ravines and cracks that glowed from the planet's core. Unnatural, twisting rocks rose like spires into the sky. The entire land glowed eerily, giving it a dark beauty. Looking out upon it, Revan knew that the evil she sought was not here. But something in her mind told her to stay, at least for a while.

"Inquiry: Master, why are we here?" HK asked from behind her, interrupting her thoughts. "The meatbags on the last planet informed us that our current destination is in the Unknown Systems."

"I know, HK," Revan turned around, her robes twirling around her. "But, there is _something_ here."

"Cynical Response: Very well, Master. If you insist."

Revan smiled, but she didn't respond to his hidden taunt. He had gotten better at goading people into attacking, and had been practicing on her. She knew he wanted to fight, not search the entire galaxy for some nameless thing. In truth, she didn't want to be questing, either, but…

Jumping down nimbly from her perch, she began wandering, as she usually did on the planets she visited. Revan often found that her feet were better guides than the maps stored in HK's newly reactivated memory. She weaved deftly through the maze of rock pillars, ignoring the spirits and fades of those who had died here. As much as their silent screams of agony tore at her heart, for their deaths had been her fault, she knew that she could do nothing for them. They were just echoes now, an imprint caused by the wound in the Force. The beasts that lived on Malachor V, man-sized reptilians bred by the Dark Side, slithered into the shadows at her approach, though she could feel their hostility, and their fear of her, affirming the fact that she had been here before. Otherwise, they would have attacked her on sight.

After she and HK had wandered for a time, she came upon a cave leading down into the depths of the planet. Something inside called to her, beckoning her. Without hesitation, Revan entered the mouth of the cave and continued walking with HK clanking behind. Revan had no fear of the cave or whatever lurked inside: she had once faced two terentateks alone and survived. What was there to be afraid of in a crumbling cave on a graveyard planet? Not that it made a difference: she knew she could be beat. But at least the odds were in her favor…right? The cave grew darker the deeper they descended, lit only by the glowing, green fissures in the ground. After they had stumbled along for a time, they arrived at an impediment, the sunken remains of some great machine. Revan immediately knew it was the Mass Shadow Generator, the device that had practically ended the Mandalorian War. It shone with the eerie green light of the planet's core and radiated with a malevolent energy. Years after the last battle, the Battle of Malachor V, the machine was still clean and burnished, but, as impeccably immaculate as it still was after all these years, the buried monstrosity had the appearance of some ancient artifact of a long-forgotten time.

At an impulse, Revan bravely approached the contraption and touched the cold metal. The scenery flickered slightly, and ghostly apparitions appeared, shades of the past that had left an imprint on the Force, just like the dying specters that she had passed in the maze of paths. This, however, were more like a vision, a recording of the past. She saw the cave as it was before the war: still dark, but sturdy and whole, and fully illuminated by artificial light. A Zabrak engineer leaned over the control panel nearby, entering the last commands that would awaken his horrible masterpiece. He was completely absorbed in his work when a figure silently approached him and his machine. The figure was clothed in a dark robe and was wearing the mask of a fallen Mandalorian woman: Darth Revan, herself as she had once been. Revan could still feel the remnants of her former power swirling in the air as she watched the scene, a silent, invisible observer. The Zabrak stood, wiping the sweat off his brow, and upon turning to leave, stumbled back in surprise at the sight of the masked figure.

" _General Revan!"_ he cried and saluted her former self.

Her specter strode silently forward and touched the machine gently, almost lovingly, inches away from the actual Revan. _"When will it be ready, Bao-Dur?"_

" _Give it a day or two to warm up, and it should work perfectly, General,"_ Bao-Dur proclaimed proudly.

She nodded in approval and said, _"Good work, Lieutenant."_

Bao-Dur grinned slightly, and after a pause, probed, _"May I ask how my other work is? Does it meet your expectations?"_

" _I'm alive right now, am I not, lieutenant? That means it_ has _met my expectations,"_ the shade Revan reposted. She pulled her hand away from the machine and twisted to face the Zabrak. _"Now, I shall leave you to your work. I have much to do as well."_

" _Very good, ma'am,"_ he saluted her again.

Then, with a sudden abruptness, the vision ended, and the cave became torn and fractured once again. _So,_ she thought to herself, _I had_ two _things built here, not just one. Interesting._

"Query: Master, are you all right?" HK asked from behind her.

"Yeah," she responded at length. "Let's…just keep moving."

"Inquiry: Master, were you thinking of that meatbag Carth again?"

Revan grimaced. "Well, _now_ I am. Thanks, HK. I was almost done crying. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'll go find a nice, dark corner to die in."

"Sarcasm: Ha, ha, ha, Master. Very funny. Now, are we done on this depressing planet? I want to kill something."

She sighed, knowing that he was probably right, and that whatever she had had built was probably buried under several tons of rock and gravity. But her feet told a different story. They itched to retrace well-worn paths. So, since she really had nothing better to do, she allowed them to wander. They led her out of the cave and back into the maze of paths, along a different path. And then, something totally unexpected happened: Revan rounded a corner and was startled to find a man meditating in a little clearing, with the rock faces forming a natural, circular barrier cut only by a myriad of different paths. He was facing away from her, his stance peaceful, but his appearance told a different story. His body was broken, seeming to be sewn together haphazardly, and his face was craggily and scarred. His dark aura was overpowering, almost as if he _was_ the Dark Side. He noticed her at the same time as she noticed him. He turned to look at her with his one good eye, and, after a glimmer of unbridled surprise flickered across his face, sped wordlessly off down a path, supplementing his speed with the Force. It was a common skill that many Jedi used, including Revan. Her eyebrows arched in shock at the strange encounter, and then, perhaps foolishly, she sped off after him. Poor HK-47 was left in the clearing.

He pressed a button on his left arm, which opened a hologram of T3. "Report: T3-M4, we have a problem."

"Beep-beep boop?" the mechanical droid asked.

"Explanation: Revan has run off after some…zombie meatbag," HK informed his partner.

Meanwhile, the prodigal knight was chasing after the strange, powerful Sith. At least, she assumed he was a Sith, though not the kind she was looking for. He rounded a corner, into yet another clearing, and, with one powerful burst of Force, vanished down one of several paths. Revan came to a screeching stop, knowing that she had lost him. But, that was okay because something in this particular clearing called to her, like the Mass Shadow Generator had. Something was buried here. She scanned the area and spotted a heap of rubble near one of the walls. With a wave of her hand, she moved the rocks away and revealed a small cave passage. Exhausted and breathing hard, with loose strands of hair draping over her face, she entered the passage.

The tunnel was darker than the first, so Revan drew her lightsaber, lighting the entire complex. The tunnel led sharply down and curved to the right, which meant that it led right under the clearing. She descended, curious, only to find a barrier of impenetrable darkness. Mechanically, Revan reached to her left for a light switch. She didn't expect to find one, but, surprisingly, there was a button wired into the rock wall. She grimaced at the conveniently placed button, but pushed it anyway. Immediately, the chamber lit up, and, sitting in the middle of the chamber, completely intact, was a small, shiny ship.

But the ship was unlike any other ship Revan had ever seen. It was small, meant to only hold one, maybe two people, but it was outfitted with a hyperdrive. The exoskeleton was built of a heavier metal than that commonly used for hulls, and the shape was designed to withstand heavy impacts. In the bottom of the ship was a storage compartment, possibly to hold spare parts. It had no turrets, either. The ship seemed to have been made for one purpose: to crash.

Partly out of habit, but mostly out of curiosity, she walked up to the ship and touched the cold metal. Apparitions appeared: yet another Force vision. Darth Revan was starting up the ship when a woman appeared, out of breath, at the tunnel. She was dressed as a Jedi, and was most likely a Revanchist, assigned to the unfortunate post on Malachor V.

" _Revan!"_ the Jedi gasped.

Darth Revan raised her head, taken aback that she had been interrupted. _"What now?"_

The Jedi inhaled deeply, and then said, _"Bao-Dur said you were coming here. I…do you want me to inform Malak that you are leaving?"_

" _No!"_ Revan snapped. _"What is it you want, General?"_

The Jedi looked up into the darkened mask. _"Your droid has returned. He said his mission had been completed, and he demanded to be taken to you."_

Revan unconsciously drummed her fingers on the controls. _"Hmm…I will attend to him when I get back. Have him wait at the base."_

" _Why not just take him with you?"_ the woman wondered.

She imagined that her former self quietly laughed at this. _"Machines do not work where I go, General."_

The Jedi nodded in understanding, saluted, and then left. Darth Revan turned back to the controls, and then…the vision ended. Well, now Revan knew that this where she parted with her companions. She didn't want to leave HK and T3, but it seemed that she didn't really have a choice. Something told her that she needed to go to this new world, whatever it was. So, she clamored into the old ship and took a seat in the cockpit.

Revan looked for the ignition, but there was none. There wasn't any visible way to start the engines. Then, she realized that the ship had been specifically designed for _her_. Smiling, she extended her hand and tapped into the Force. Immediately, the engines began to thrum. She then used the Force to open the doors, or rather, the ceiling. After these two tasks had been accomplished, she checked the hyperspace coordinates. As she had suspected, coordinates had already been entered. Actually, it seemed that the computer could only recognize those coordinates. She set the course, and then sat back. Even though her droids would know she had left, she needed closure. She accessed her communicator.

"Greeting: Master, is that you? I am very distraught at having been left behind," HK answered. "Did you catch the zombie meatbag?"

Revan smiled sadly. "No, HK. I didn't."

"Question: Then, where are you, Master?"

"Well," Revan started, "I'm…leaving."

"Incomprehension: 'Leaving', Master?"

"I am going to another planet, HK, and you can't follow," she explained.

"Inquiry: Why not?"

"You won't work, where I'm going. I'm doing this to protect you and T3. HK, do me one favor?"

"Assent: Of course, Master. Anything your squishy, meatbag heart desires. Unless, of course, you want me to be like that droid on Dantooine. Then I am drawing the line," HK responded flatly.

Revan cracked a smile despite herself. "Tell Carth…tell him to wait for me, and that I will return to him one day."

"Remark: That…" HK began, then paused. "Revision: No, I am _not_ going to go there. I will deliver your message. But I do not understand: why are you going to this world without any assistance? The wench Bastila would not be happy."

"Bye, HK," Revan said, a final farewell, and ended the transmission.

The ship was rising over the scarred surface of Malachor V now. Revan looked down out of the cockpit window and got the strange feeling that she would never return to the planet again.

Back on the surface, HK-47 looked at his droid companion as their sensors indicated that something, notably Revan, had left the planet's surface.

"Profanity: Oh schist," HK announced.

"Boop boop-beep," T3-M4 agreed.

* * *

 

As soon as she came out of hyperspace, she was overwhelmed by the power the planet possessed. It wasn't the Dark Side; Malachor V stank of Dark Side, and this did not feel like Malachor V. But, the power felt…malicious. Tempting. Dangerously alluring.

The planet, looking down upon its serene surface, seemed to be similar to Naboo or Kashyyyk: no giant cities sprawled endlessly across its surface, no chasms led deep into the planet's core, and no spewing volcanoes or barren, rocky landscapes made it nearly impossible to live on. In fact, the world seemed quite pleasant, with its green and yellow plains and deep blue oceans. She felt inexplicably drawn to the planet, despite its obvious primitiveness. There were no docking stations or major establishments her instruments could detect. So, she set a course to land in the ocean east of one of the continents.

The ship entered the upper atmosphere, and tongues of fiery heat began to stream off of its surface. It was then that the alarms began to go off. The ship's computers reported that the systems were starting to fail, and, with each moment that passed, the screen flickered more and more until it just went black. _Well, that explains what happens to machines here,_ Revan thought as her ship plummeted to the surface. She didn't panic; one of the reasons she had set a course for the ocean was in case something like this happened. So, as was her nature, she sat back in her seat and waited for the inevitable impact.

Or, at least, that was what she had intended to do. The ground was still an indistinct, green and blue canvas when her ship was hit from the side. The ship rolled to the left, knocking her off course. But, it hadn't been another ship that had fired at her. _That_ was what worried her the most. Revan liked to know what was attacking her.

As though it had heard her silent wish, the aggressor began mauling the sides of the craft, like a young bird trying to pry open the shell of a mollusk. She was almost powerless to stop the thing, but she tried to draw her lightsaber anyway. The… _thing_ finally pierced the sides of her ship. Using its claws, it tore four, long gashes in the siding, decompressing the cabin. Fortunately they were low enough now that Revan's brain didn't explode from the sudden change in pressure. The monster expanded the wound enough to look inside. It was reptilian in nature, with hard, dry scales, a long snout, and a multitude of spikes and spines growing like tree limbs from its crown and backbone.

It saw her, and mentally screamed, " _Threat! Must…kill…threat! Must…kill…_ you _!_ "

Finally, after much fumbling, Revan managed to wrestle out her lightsaber and activate it. The blade of pure energy vibrated to life, lighting up the entire chamber. The monster took a swipe at her inside the cockpit, but Revan pressed herself against the controls and swung at its forepaw. The blade made contact with flesh, and wisps of smoke arose. But the blade didn't sever the limb; the monster's scales were thick, maybe even heat-resistant. Revan cursed silently as she realized she would have to draw her other sword, Naga Sadow's Poison Blade. It was the best blade she had ever found that wasn't a lightsaber; perhaps it would be able to pierce the impenetrable armor of the beast.

The monster then realized that the gash it had created wasn't large enough to attack efficiently through, especially since it was allowing Revan to dodge its attacks. So, it proceeded to completely rip her ship apart. As Revan dived for her pack, her bag containing pretty much every useful thing she could carry, including the Poison Blade, the beast tore off huge chunks of her ship and flung them away, scattering them in the atmosphere. Most would melt and disintegrate before they reached the planet's surface. The moment Revan had managed to grasp her sword, the monster had decided that it had inflicted enough damage on the insignificant ship, which meant that there wasn't much left of Revan's craft. She faced the monster and finally saw what it really looked like: a giant, proud reptile with wings, heavy armor plates, an elongated neck and tail, and a soft, vulnerable underbelly.

They had reached terminal velocity, spiraling through the air. The beast, instinctively knowing this, began beating its huge, membranous wings to slow their descent, but the rest of its attention was fixed on her. It began a ferocious assault on her, using its claws and teeth. Luckily, Revan was practically a master with swords and was able to easily deflect its attacks. The monster noticed this and decided to try a different approach. It opened its mouth, as if about to snap at her, but breathed fire instead. Revan's skin began to blister from the intense heat. Gritting her teeth, Revan erected a Force Shield to negate the flames.

And so, realizing that fire was useless against her, it began another furious onslaught, this time even more ferocious. Revan was put on the defensive, though she kept looking for any opening to strike. The ground was getting closer now, and large features were coming into view. Trees began to take shape. Both knew there wasn't much time before they crashed. Revan abandoned her ship and began freefalling, hoping to angle herself to land on the beast's belly. Suddenly, her vision swam and sharp, excruciating pain went up her back. She screamed; the monster, in an act of desperation, had used its tail as a club and tried to paralyze her. Though the pain was more intense than anything Revan had ever felt, and she could feel blood dripping down her back, she still had feeling in her lower body. But its blow had given her enough of a push that she was practically on the monster's stomach. She raised the Poison Blade, and, with what was left of her strength, drove it into the beast's body.

The monster roared in anguish. It was dying, and it had failed to kill her. With what remained of its strength, it took one, final, wild blow…and connected. Its claws raked over her face, the blood and pain blinding her. They screamed in unison from agony as they fell. The monster, reinvigorated by its success, bent its neck toward her, perhaps hoping for one more chance to burn her to a crisp. Revan recalled her Jedi training; she had once learned how to sense objects without seeing them. She now could sense the beast's head as it moved toward her, and in one sweeping motion, pulled her sword out of the beast's stomach and thrust it through the bottom of its head.

Revan heard the beast hiss slightly as the blood filled its mouth. The beast gave one, giant shudder, and died. Revan fell to her knees upon the beast, blood soaking her skin and clothes, sword still in hand. She realized the ground was fast approaching, so she again thrust her sword in the monster's stomach and held on for her life. She knew that the collision might kill her, or, at least, severely injure her. She gripped the sword tighter and thought of Carth. He gave her the will to live, no matter what happened. And then, they hit the ground, and Revan was thrown into darkness.


	2. Act II

Act II: Brecilian Forest

The camp was in chaos. The normally calm and serene Dalish were running amuck, gossiping and chattering away. No work was being done; everyone was too distracted and stunned. Even the elders of the camp were running rampant, trying to make sense of what had transpired. And as expected, the young hunters were itching to run off and find the fallen dragon.

About thirty minutes earlier something had fallen out of the sky, a trail of fire and smoke in its wake. Keeper Marethari knew that the object was most likely a meteorite, but her apprentice, Merrill, insisted it was an Old God, returned to them to bring them salvation. And since she was a Keeper in training, the others were eager to believe her. The Keeper knew better than to refute their theories; after all she could be wrong. It could very well be an Old God, but she highly doubted it. It was better to prove than to postulate. So the Keeper had summoned three of the junior hunters: Tamlen, Fenarel, and Lyna the orphan. Even though they were some of the youngest hunters in the clan, when they worked together as a team, they were as skilled as the clan's most seasoned hunters were. She had faith that they would find the dragon and its bane with ease.

Keeper Marethari had sent them off twenty minutes ago. She hoped the dragon hadn't fallen a great distance away; the camp needed to return to order. And it wasn't going to any time soon, not with the way Merrill was preaching at the campfire. She had practically usurped Paivel's position as storyteller and was now spinning fantastic tales about how the Old God would lead them to victory against the vile shemlins. Marethari looked in the direction that the dragon had fallen, silently praying to all the gods she knew that Merrill was wrong.

* * *

 

Tamlen reached the ledge before Lyna and Fenarel. He grasped a young sapling and surveyed the carnage. Lyna trotted up beside him panting slightly from running the entire way. They were about five miles from the camp in the middle of the forest. It had been easy to find the site: all the birds were flying away from it, all the animals were scattering, and even the trees seemed to want to move away from the fallen lady of the skies. The dragon had created a crater the size of the camp with its broken body in the center. She and Tamlen, standing on the edge of the crater, stared at the site in awe. The dragon, or rather the high dragon, was larger than any beast they had ever encountered and more impressive. Even dead and bloody it was terrifyingly exquisite.

Fenarel jogged up behind them gasping for breath. His eyes widened at the sight of the magnificent creature.

"That's…that's a _high dragon_!" he exclaimed. "I mean, not as large as some that Paivel tells about, but…that's a _high dragon_!"

"We know," Tamlen stated bluntly, not taking his eyes off of the dragon.

Tamlen characteristically blundered down the steep sides of the crater without analyzing anything first. Lyna would have yelled at him, but he would have just turned around, smiled, and continued down. So instead, _she_ looked around. The first thing that caught her attention was the large mangled sheets of metal scattered about the crater. They were shiny but streaked with scorch marks. Then she noticed where the dragon's blood was: streaking down the dragon's chest and under its head and neck. Unless it had swallowed something very sharp, the only way the high dragon could have been injured in that way was if something had been attacking it.

Unexpectedly, Fenarel began sliding down the crater walls. Fenarel was the cautious one, so why would he be doing something so brash? Then she saw it: about five meters away from the head of the dragon was a body. She couldn't distinguish if it was man or beast from this far away. So, she raced after Fenarel, if only to discover what the thing was.

"Hey, Lyna! Come up here! I found something!" Tamlen shouted from atop the dragon.

"Hey, Tamlen! We found something better!" she shouted back, nearing the body.

Fenarel knelt next to it. It was definitely a person, and a shemlin by the looks of it. The human was limp, perhaps even dead. It had short hair and was dressed in the strangest robes, which were soaked in blood. Lyna's first impression was that it was a runaway mage from the Circle Tower, but she then realized that its robes were unlike any she had ever seen before.

Tamlen climbed down and walked toward them. He was carrying a bloody sword, and the expression that crossed his face when he saw the shem was murderous. It frightened Lyna, but she held her tongue. Many Dalish resented the humans, and Tamlen was no different.

"She's still alive!" Fenarel exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock.

Tamlen's, in contrast, narrowed. "She?"

"She," Fenarel assured him. He seemed unafraid of the human female, as he was one of the few who felt no anger towards them.

"Kill her," Tamlen commanded. "The world will be better off with one less shemlin."

"Tam!" Lyna cried. "We can't just kill someone, shem or no!"

"You of all people should hate them!" he shouted at her.

"Well, I don't!" she retaliated. "And _Fen'Harel_ strike me down if I'm wrong! What is your problem, Tam? This shem hasn't done anything to you!"

Tamlen averted his gaze. He had no response to that.

"We should take her back to camp," Fenarel started quietly. "She needs medical attention. And I'm sure the Keeper could—"

"No!" Tamlen spun, fire burning in his eyes. "We will _not_ save her!"

Fenarel looked at the unconscious shem, his gaze softening a bit. _His heart is too big,_ Lyna thought. _It will get him killed one of these days._

"Well then, I will," he said quietly. "You two can do what you please. I'll take her back to camp myself."

Lyna knelt down next to him. "I will help you," she pledged. "I cannot leave anyone to just die."

Tamlen stared daggers at them shouting, "How can you agree with him? How can you just turn against me?"

"Leaving her is wrong, Tam. You know that," she explained.

"And would she do the same for us if the situation was reversed?" he argued.

Quietly Fenarel said, "It is up to us, as Dalish, to teach the shemlins about compassion. If we do not save her, how can we expect them to save us? If we do not show compassion, how can we expect them to?"

Tamlen bowed his head, "Fine, I will help you take her back."

"Thank you Tam," Lyna said, but he didn't acknowledge her. He often did this: she would force him to do something he didn't want to do, he would ignore her for a few days, and then he would be fine.

Lyna and Fenarel lifted the human up, her flaccid arms around their shoulders, carrying her between them. Tamlen followed behind, her sword in hand.

* * *

 

The scouts reported to Keeper Marethari that the hunters had returned. They said that the hunters were carrying a…a person. The chaos intensified as the party grew closer, the rumors growing even more wild.

Marethari walked briskly to the edge of the camp, eager to greet the hunters. They emerged silently from the trees, and, indeed, they were carrying a person between them. It was an unconscious shemlin, torn and bloody. She knew immediately that the shem needed healing, so she instructed the scouts to help them. Marethari led them through the throng of curious clan mates, all of whom wanted to see this supernatural being that had miraculously slayed a high dragon.

The Keeper rushed inside her _aravel_ , her personal land-ship, and grabbed one of the many cloth cots she had stored among her medical supplies. She rushed outside and unfolded it hurriedly. Marethari called Merrill to assist her, and completely stunned, the young apprenticed complied. Merrill seemed astonished that anyone, especially a human, could have defeated a high dragon. She was upset that it hadn't been an Old God, as she had claimed. She was also surprised that she had been wrong.

The scouts laid the shemlin on the cot. Bending down with Merrill observing curiously over her shoulder, Marethari examined the woman. A few paces away the hunters stood in a little band, patiently waiting. The shem's face was mangled, torn from the back of her skull, across her face and onto her neck. The Keeper wouldn't know the extent of the damage until she had washed off the clotted blood. Then she tore off the shem's strange bloody robes to get a better look at her other wounds. There were lacerations all over her body-claw marks from the dragon-and though some of them were deep and nasty, none had fatally injured the woman. Palpating the shem's ribcage and extremities, Marethari found that the woman had a few broken ribs, a fractured wrist and several sprained ligaments. However, compared to what the Keeper had expected, the shemlin had fared fairly well.

"Do you…do you think she is a mage?" Merrill asked hesitantly.

"I am not sure," the Keeper answered honestly. In all her years as Keeper she had never had to deal with such a strange situation.

With Merrill's assistance they quickly cleaned the shemlin's wounds and treated them, bandaging the worst and setting the broken wrist. The hunters looked on with worried expressions. Finally Marethari stood and wiped her brow.

"Well?" Lyna inquired eagerly.

"She will live," Marethari told them calmly.

"How long will she be unconscious?" Fenarel glanced at the comatose woman.

The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "No more than a week, if she is strong."

"Strong?" Merrill spoke from beside the cot. "This female slew a—"

"—a high dragon, yes Merrill, we were there," Tamlen interrupted.

And, predictably, Lyna turned to him and began lecturing him about respect, which Tamlen didn't take well. Merrill's eyes widened in apprehension as the couple fought, but Marethari and Fenarel just exchanged looks and left. They had other things to do.

* * *

 

The dreams were horrible. They were worse than any Force vision Revan had ever had. But what made them so horrible was the fact that it was her memories, all coming back to her. Every memory she had ever had played in her head with crystal clearness, as fresh as the day they had happened. Every moment of pain, of exhaustion, she felt yet again. She even remembered her thoughts at the time, showing her what she had been thinking. And the thoughts were not pretty. Revan wanted the visions to stop. She wanted to forget her past again. What she had done…it was so terrible, so unforgivable. She had destroyed millions of lives and had never given it a second thought.

Finally, she reached the conclusion: herself, fighting Bastila on her flagship. She could feel the blast as Malak, her closest companion and best friend, betrayed her. And then, blackness. It was over. But it wasn't. She remembered awakening, remembered her false memories, remembered Carth. Revan felt her helplessness as everyone died around her, on the _Endar Spire,_ on Taris, following her like a black storm. But she remembered the warmth of family, the acceptance even as they discovered her true identity.

And then, as the images faded to black, Revan could hear the sound of birds chirping high above her. It was over. Her mind sorted through the memories, trying in vain to repair the damage they had caused her. In a moment of weakness, a tear dripped down her cheek. But was it really a moment of weakness? Revan's former identity fought with her newfound perspective, trying to regain what it had lost. But Revan knew that if it won, she would become Darth Revan once more and unleash a power greater than even the Star Forge had possessed. Finally, the light beat back the dark, giving her a temporary victory.

Revan then came to full consciousness. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the life around her, but the feeling was stronger than usual. And, she could see the things around her. She saw trees around her, glowing brightly with life. She saw the birds in the trees, the moss clinging tentatively to the bark, the blades of grass, even the ants marching with intent through the green forest of grass. Even the inanimate objects glowed, albeit dully, perhaps because of the bacteria on their surface. Revan opened her eyes, wondering what this strange sight was. But only one eye opened. The strange new sight didn't go away, only merged with her normal vision giving her a stunningly clear field of vision. She lifted her hands, one of which was throbbing, and gingerly touched her face. Her hands felt the bandages that were covering the entire left side. A stab of fear jolted her as she realized that she had probably lost that eye.

Her new sight alerted her to someone approaching on her left. Revan struck out, nerves frayed from trauma, and grasped the person's arm. The startled person froze, letting out a small gasp of surprise, but they didn't seem afraid of her. She tilted her head a bit to get a better look at the person, a woman. The woman was elderly with gold tattoos curling on her forehead and her white hair gathered back in a short ponytail, exposing her pointed ears. Dressed in a plain robe, the woman carried a staff on her back and bandages in her arms. This woman was helping Revan; she let go of the woman's thin wrist, leaving red marks.

"You are awake," the woman stated. She didn't speak Basic, but a strange heavy language. Revan had learned it long ago and apparently had used it quite often.

"Yes, apparently I am," Revan whispered hoarsely. Her throat felt dryer than the ancient paper records stored in the Jedi Archives on Coruscant.

"I didn't expect you to wake for at least a few more days," the woman admitted, getting to her knees. "How are you feeling?"

Revan paused, assessing her body. "Decent, considering the force of my impact. How bad was I?"

The woman seemed hesitant to answer but responded, "I've treated worse."

Revan smiled sadly, "I'm sure you have."

Taking a deep breath, the woman listed off her injuries. "Well, you had many superficial cuts and sprains, but nothing too serious besides a few cracked ribs and a broken wrist. And…your eye…the dragon clawed out your retina. I tried to save it, but I was lucky that I didn't have to remove the entire eye. I'm sorry, dear."

At least Revan had been expecting it. She nodded in understanding. "It's okay." After a pause, Revan cleared her throat. "Thank you. Not many would help a stranger that just fell out of the sky. I…I don't know how to ever repay you."

"Oh relax dear," the woman smiled warmly. "I don't expect anything from you. It is my duty as a Keeper to help those in need, even a human."

 _Keeper_ …Revan had heard that term before. It had been on a strange planet, a corrupted planet, a planet whose inhabitants were naturally resistant to the Force. An involuntary shiver ran down Revan's spine.

"I don't know your name ma'am," she kept calm.

"You may call me Marethari, Keeper of the Sabrae Clan," the woman bowed, arms crossed over her chest.

"And where are we?"

"You don't know?" Marethari raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, do you remember who you are?"

Revan laughed cynically; the Keeper thought she had amnesia! "I wish I didn't, dear Keeper! I really wish I didn't."

Marethari seemed troubled by this but replied, "We are in the Brecilian Forest, in Ferelden."

"Yes, but what world is this?" Revan inquired.

"You mean, is this the Fade or the earth?" the Keeper corrected, trying to understand.

The Jedi closed her eye in exasperation. "What do you call this world?"

"Thedas…" Marethari was confused, her brow furrowing sharply.

 _Thedas…_ Revan sorted through her memories. She remembered it all now and with a strangled cry, realized what had happened. Thedas was _not_ where the Sith were! Thedas had been an accident. A very good accident for her, and a very bad accident for all others, but an accident nonetheless. The things she had done on this planet were…indescribably horrible. Thedas had been her first step down the path of the Dark Side, even though she hadn't realized it at the time. Regret, anger, and guilt rose in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her.

 _There is no emotion, only peace,_ she thought. _Only peace…_

She breathed in slowly and opened her eye, again in control. "I apologize, Keeper. I know I must be confusing you."

Marethari smiled benevolently, understanding. "You can explain later dear. Now, you need rest."

* * *

 

Revan was an object of fear and curiosity among the Dalish. The elders of the clan, rightfully wary of humans according to Revan's memories, cast her a bitter glance every once and a while but otherwise ignored her. The younger elves however, had never seen a human up close before. They came and visited her often, usually staring at her from a distance as she meditated. She eventually convinced them she wouldn't harm them, and they began talking to her. It didn't take her long to know everything about everyone in camp.

The hunters that had saved her also came and talked to her. Tamlen distrusted her as much as the staunchest elder, but Lyna and Fenarel were pleasant company. Fenarel visited her the most, having some kind of interest in her. He would teach her about the Dalish and their culture, and he even taught her the language of the elves. Revan thought he was somehow trying to persuade her to help the elves; it was obvious that all the Dalish thought that all humans hated them.

Despite their obvious suspicion of her, the Dalish were gradually coming to respect her. She had offered no name upon her awakening, but the Dalish had supplied her with one: _Mi'harel_ , blade of dread. Revan often heard the elves whispering amongst themselves about her and her impressive feat of slaying a high dragon. But she knew had caused no grievances, and soon they would become less wary of her. Perhaps she could earn their trust in time. Revan only wished to help them.


	3. Act III

Act III: Brecilian Forest

Revan had been with the Dalish for almost three weeks. Gradually, they had become more trusting of her. She had listened to their histories as Paivel, the clan's storyteller, told them to the youngest members of the tribe. Revan had helped with the cooking and the cleaning, working side by side with the women of the clan. Revan had not known how to cook, but the women had patiently instructed her in the culinary arts of the Dalish. They had come to accept Revan, laughing with her as she told them stories of her friends and her man.

At night, Revan had strengthened her mind. She had tried using the Force and, though it worked, it was dull, a kitchen knife compared to the razor blade it was anywhere else in the galaxy. The Force had somehow been corrupted here. It was still present, but…faded, obscured. Still, she practiced, building her strength with practice and healing her body at the same time. Even though the Force was not as strong around her, she could still draw on the Force from within herself. In result, her two-month recovery had been shortened to a month.

Morning came. Revan felt Marethari approaching the cot. She enjoyed these morning check-ups; they gave her the chance to learn more from the powerful and wise Keeper. Keeper Marethari had grown to like Revan too, considering that she always stayed longer than was necessary.

"Good morning, Keeper," Revan propped herself up on her arm as the Keeper silently glided to the cot, bandages and salves in hand.

Marethari smiled. "Good morning to you too, _Mi'harel._ Did you sleep well, or did you have more nightmares?"

For the three weeks she had been there, Revan had had horrible dreams. Often they were of a hideous dragon soaring above an army of corrupted, vile creatures. Sometimes, however, they were of her past, and the horrible crimes she had committed. And, every once and a while, she would dream of the terrible army conquering the Republic, dragging the women off and slaughtering all others.

"Yes," Revan responded quietly. "But it was just of the dragon this time. He was giving commands to his minions."

The Keeper nodded, absorbing this information. She had been trying to figure out exactly what was causing these dreams, which were unlike any she had encountered before. Revan had her own theory of what was causing them, but she dared not tell anyone, even Marethari.

"I have a question, Keeper: I have seen you working with the Force. How do you do it?"

The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "You mean magic? Dear, I was born with the ability, and, after years of training, I mastered it."

"Magic?" Revan wondered if the elves knew what the Force was. "Tell me, where do you draw your power from?"

"From the lyrium," Marethari replied, prodding Revan's wrist.

"Lyrium, not life?" Revan clarified.

"Yes, lyrium. Why do you ask?" the Keeper looked at her curiously.

Revan decided it was safe to tell Marethari. "I have a similar power, but I draw it from life. But here, I cannot use it as I could elsewhere."

"Yes, I thought you had magical talent," she muttered. "But the only power that draws on life that I know of is blood magic, and you do not seem to be a blood mage."

"Blood magic? This I have to hear!" Revan inquired, now interested.

Marethari nodded, "The blood mage uses either the blood of a victim or himself, and uses that blood to fuel his magic. It is a horrible practice, and to learn it, the mage has to make a deal with a demon. It is an ancient practice, though not as old as the forgotten teachings of our ancestors."

"A demon from the Fade?" she thought, recalling their previous conversations.

"Exactly," Marethari said as she palpated Revan's scars.

"Well, I am definitely not a blood mage, then," she stated.

The Keeper smiled, amused. "Well, you seem to be almost completely recovered! If you wish, you can go. There is really nothing more I can do for you."

"And leave the clan in the middle of Paivel's recounting of Andraste?" Revan gasped. "I dare not!"

* * *

 

And so, Revan had stayed with the clan. They did not seem to mind her presence. In fact, she had made friends with several of the Dalish. Most had even forgotten that she was human, and treated her like a clan sister. She had even joined the ranks of the hunters after slaying a bear while walking with Merrill, much to Tamlen's displeasure. Fenarel, however, had immediately taken her on as a partner. The day she had joined, Merrill had presented her with her sword, the one the Keeper had been keeping in her _aravel_ , her dwelling of sorts. Revan had accepted it with a sad smile.

The day after she had officially became a hunter, Tamlen, Lyna, and Fenarel took her to the corpse of the high dragon. Apparently Master Ilen, the clan's craftsmaster, wanted to experiment with dragon scales, a change from the normal ironbark he normally used. At last, Revan could look at the supposedly great and terrible creature she had slain. Emerging from the forest onto the edge of the huge crater, she saw that the dragon was indeed massive. It was, at the least, larger than any terentatek she had ever encountered, and she remembered, more dangerous than one. As her fellow hunters began stripping the already-decaying carcass, Revan went to the head. The beast's great head lay broken in the dirt, its eyes fortunately closed and its mouth slightly open. Revan sat, staring at it for a while. Eventually, she could feel Tamlen approach. He plucked off a few meter-long spines from the base of the dragon's skull, and then noticed Revan's presence as she stared blankly at the thing that had stranded her in Thedas. A flash of pity crossed his face and quickly vanished, but not before Revan had noticed.

He plucked a tooth from the dragon's mouth and tossed it to her. "Take this. It'll last longer," he told her, mocking and sympathetic at the same time.

Finally, Revan embraced her past. It would always be a part of her, and she needed to accept that.

Each morning after, Revan would journey into the forest and meditate. She still had to work through all her memories and come to terms with her actions. But, a month after the return of her memories, she had subdued the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her again. It was still there; it was an inseparable part of her, something that made her who she was. However, she could now control it. Revan balanced on a thin line between light and dark, another reason she needed to meditate daily.

This particular day she had journeyed to the north. She carefully picked her way through the bracken and dead leaves, practicing the stealth techniques that Fenarel had showed her. Not only did these daily meditation sessions help strengthen her mind, they also helped strengthen her weakened body. The injuries had taken their toll, but slowly Revan was building up muscle and speed. Soon she would be where she had been physically before the crash, perhaps even stronger.

A few clicks from the camp, Revan stumbled upon a ruin. Ruins were not uncommon in the Brecilian Forest, and Revan had stumbled upon them before. Every time she found one, Revan would explore it, pitting her skills against the creatures that attacked her. She did not relish their death, but most were dangerous creatures that might threaten a stray child or unwary hunter. This ruin was smaller than most, consisting of only a few rooms. It might have been a hermit's dwelling, or that of a reclusive scholar. Unfortunately, the passage of time had erased any evidence of those who used to live there.

Revan entered the ruin, wary of any traps or rogue creatures. The walls were carefully constructed of stone and, though most of the walls were intact, it had fallen in at places. The roof had collapsed and decayed long ago, and all the windows were shattered. Dead leaves carpeted the floor, but surprisingly there were no animals residing inside. The Force was stronger here, but it too was faded, like a memory. Revan went into each room, always on alert for traps or hidden beasts, but there was nothing, not even in her special Force sight. Usually there was something: a mole, or a few mice burrowing among the leaves. But there was nothing in this ruin.

Disturbed, she turned and started for the door. As she walked back through the first room, her foot dragged and hit something solid buried in the leaves. Revan stopped in her tracks and immediately dug through the layers of decay until her fingers wrapped around a metal object the size of her fist. She pulled it out to discover an ancient holocron, a recording device that did not fit with the technology of Thedas. The holocron seemed intact, despite centuries, if not millennia, of neglect. Revan, curious of what secrets might be stored within, activated the holocron with the press of a button. A hologram of a human male flickered to life. He was dressed in the traditional robes of the Jedi, but a staff, similar in appearance to Marethari's, was strapped to his back.

" _I am Jedi Knight Gheis Dahn,"_ the Jedi bowed with his arms crossed over his chest, the way the Dalish bowed to their elders. Surprisingly, he was speaking Basic, not the native language of the planet. Whatever he had had to say, he had meant it for another Jedi. _"I left the Order in search of Sith survivors after the Great Hyperspace War, but crashed here instead."_

The Great Hyperspace War had happened a millennia ago, between the Sith and the Republic. Revan held the artifact delicately, now knowing its true value. The Knight went on to explain his life with the ancient elves, survivors of the destruction of their original homeland. He went on to explain that, though only a handful lived in the forest, they were the only elves who had been able to keep all of their old culture. The other elves had been taken a millennia earlier by an empire known as the Tevinter Imperium. He then described in great detail everything they had taught him: language, culture, technology, even magic. Unfortunately, age had taken its toll on the holocron, and some parts of it were corrupted. If T3-M4 had been with her, she might have been able to recover most of it, but her slicing skills were not as advanced as his were.

The holocron was long; it contained hours of material. Realizing this, Revan shut it off and started back to the camp. She needed to give this to Marethari, considering that half of their culture seemed to be stored on its memory card.

* * *

 

"Yes, _Mi'harel_? Are you in need of something?" Marethari greeted her without looking up from the salve she was mixing. The sun was at its zenith; normally Revan would be hunting or training with the others.

"I have something that is of much interest to you," Revan smiled, the holocron resting in her hand.

Marethari straightened, stretching out her back as she stood. "What is it?"

Revan held out the small metal object. "It's called a holocron. From where I come from, they store information. And this one contains information about the elves. Almost all of it, in fact. I translated it from my language to yours on the way here, and there are some spots where the information was deleted, but…this little thing has almost all of your culture on it."

The Keeper was astonished. Understandably, she doubted the truth to Revan's words, but she was nonetheless flabbergasted that such a thing existed. She accepted the gift reverently, as if it would dissolve into dust at any moment.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I…I don't know what to say, but thank you. You have no idea what this means to me, to my clan."

Revan smiled benevolently. "But I do. That's why I gave it to you."

Marethari bowed deeply, then rushed into her _aravel_ to begin studying it. Revan felt good. Finally, she had done something right.

* * *

 

A few days after Revan had given her the holocron, Marethari decided to move camp. Revan was still a guest to the clan, and so Lyna and her guardian, Ashalle, had taken her in. They instructed her how to pack the _aravel_ , and about how they would travel. Apparently the _aravels_ , or land ships, were drawn by the _halla_. Revan had seen the white deer many times during her stay with the Dalish, but their keeper, Maren, was exceptionally nervous around her, so she avoided them as much as possible. The _halla_ assigned to their _aravel_ were also nervous around Revan, and she could understand why.

Revan was impressed by how quickly the Dalish could dismantle their camp. They reminded her of the Mandalorians, who could pack up and leave in a matter of hours. The clan was ready to leave by noon, and they began their trek westward. The Keeper had not given a reason why they should leave, but they willingly obeyed her command without question anyway.

It was hard going. The trail they were following was an old game trail, filled with ruts and bumps. The Dalish walked either in front or behind the _aravels_ , and luckily, breaks were plentiful. Lyna and Ashalle had a spot near the front of the caravan, so Revan had plenty of opportunities to consort with her friends, particularly Merrill, Lyna, and Fenarel. Even though they were several years younger than Revan, they were more intelligent than most Jedi in her generation, but that assessment was based on Knights such as Bastila. Merrill, though curious and open with Revan, cautiously avoided the others, and they avoided her.

The second day of traveling, they encountered rain. It was just a light shower, but over the hours all the water began to accumulate. The already horrible trail became full of mud and potholes, impeding progress and making the _hallas_ work for every step. Despite the dreary weather, Revan refused to ride in the rickety _aravel_ , a choice that Lyna assured her was wise.

Near sundown, she noticed that the _aravel_ following theirs had dropped out of hearing. Revan twisted around to see no sign of the other land ship. She called out to Ashalle, who hurried to report it to the Keeper. The caravan screeched to a halt, the rain perpetually soaking everyone as they emerged from the safety of their _aravels_ to see what the commotion was all about. Revan began walking back alone along the trail to see what had happened to the rest of the clan.

The Dalish in the separated section of the caravan were all gathered anxiously around a precariously lurching _aravel_. One of the older children standing nearby explained to Revan that the _aravel_ had broken a wheel over a pothole. Some of the hunters there were vainly trying to lift the _aravel_ in order to replace the damaged wheel, but they didn't have the strength to do it. Revan nodded in understanding, but before she could do anything to help, she felt the unmistakable presence of the Keeper behind her.

"A broken wheel, hmm?" the Keeper crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "Go get the other hunters, child. Perhaps, with many hands, we can lift it."

The child nodded in consent and ran off to fetch the hunters. Marethari then turned her attention to Revan.

"You, _Mi'harel_ , have no regard for authority, do you?" the Keeper questioned.

Revan shrugged, "Never have, probably never will."

The Keeper smiled grudgingly but turned away, waiting for the hunters to arrive.

Soon the child returned, followed by the rest of the hunters including Lyna, Tamlen, and Fenarel. Lyna gave Revan the I-told-you-so look, and Tamlen, the notorious rule-breaker, gave her a respectful nod. The Dalish always deferred to the Keeper, something that, after almost a month of living with them, Revan still hadn't gotten used to. The hunters silently glided over to the _aravel_ and positioned themselves to lift the large land ship. Revan joined them, squeezing between Lyna and Fenarel. The Keeper, Merrill, her First, and a few others stood nearby, a new wheel in hand.

"On my count," the Keeper shouted. "One…two…three… _lift_!"

The hunters struggled to lift the heavy _aravel,_ panting with the exertion. The _aravel_ was lifted almost a foot, but the pothole was too deep, and the others couldn't replace the wheel. The Keeper ordered the hunters to set it down, letting them rest before they tried again. Revan walked up to the Keeper.

"Let me try. I can lift it. I think," she pleaded, her voice pitched so only the Keeper could hear. None of the Dalish, besides the Keeper, knew of her power.

Marethari pursed her lips, unsure. "Fine," she relented. "You can try. I want to see this power of yours, anyway."

The Keeper gestured for all the hunters to move aside. She let Revan approach, waiting expectantly. Revan closed her eye, extended her arms, and, with a huge mental effort, lifted the entire _aravel_ several meters off the ground. It was heavy, but Revan knew she could hold it. She heard the other Dalish around her whisper excitedly. The Keeper worked quickly to replace the wheel, perhaps seeing the extreme concentration it was taking Revan to keep the _aravel_ up. Through her special sight, she saw Merrill glancing at her in awe and her friends openly staring. Soon, however, Marethari had finished, and Revan gently lowered the _aravel_ back onto the ground. She inhaled deeply, her hands shaking from the effort, and opened her eye to find all the Dalish staring at her in amazement.

"What?" she demanded.

The Dalish looked away sheepishly, not saying anything, and went to push the _aravel_ out of the pothole. Revan joined them and, though they gave her wary looks, let her help. After much groaning and effort, the _halla_ managed to pull the _aravel_ out of the rut, and the Dalish dispersed back to their own _aravels_ to escape the rain. Revan and Lyna headed back to their own _aravel_ with Lyna bursting with questions.

"What _was_ that?" the eager young hunter asked. "I've never seen magic like that!"

Revan shrugged, "It's called the Force. It's energy drawn from life itself."

"So, you aren't a mage?"

"Not like Marethari or Merrill," Revan answered. She thought for a second, and then responded, "But you could consider me such."

In her Force vision Revan saw Merrill running from behind to catch up to them. She spun around, startling Merrill a bit.

"The…the Keeper wishes to speak with you, _Mi'harel_ ," the First bowed her head respectfully.

She exchanged a nervous glance with Lyna, then strode forward to meet the apprentice.

Merrill was soaked to the bone, but she continued through the rain with stark determination. Revan felt that she was the only one in the clan that even vaguely understood the young girl. Merrill was stubborn, strong-willed, and determined, even if she didn't appear to be because of her willowy frame and meek disposition. This was a girl who would do what she had to, whatever it took, and Revan admired her for that.

"What magic was that?" she asked curiously.

"The Force," Revan said again. "The power of life, an energy field that binds every living thing together."

Merrill nodded in understanding. After a pause, she asked, "Can you teach me?"

Revan smiled, glancing at the slender elf from the corner of her eye. "I don't know. Are you ready to spend years to master something that you might never understand? Are you ready to give up everything you love, your clan, your future, your home, for power?"

Merrill thought about it. "I…guess not. Not yet, at least."

"There is nothing wrong with wanting power," Revan said after a pause. "But you have to be prepared to accept the consequences."

They continued on in silence, having nothing more to say to each other. Marethari was slowly meandering toward them, deep in discussion with some of the elders of the clan. Merrill unconsciously moved closer to Revan; recently, Merrill and Marethari hadn't seen eye to eye, and neither understood the other. Marethari stiffened once she saw them approach, but otherwise seemed unperturbed. Merrill, however, looked at the ground, torn between her respect for her mentor and her own beliefs. Revan had faced a similar situation with her own mentor, Kreia.

Revan crossed her chest and bowed from the waist in greeting. "I was told you wished to speak to me, Keeper," she said when there was a lull in her conversation.

"Yes," Marethari slowly turned her attention to the Jedi. "I have something…private I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh, I guess you mean me," Merrill stated, abashed. "Right, I'll just leave then…"

The Keeper waited for Merrill to be far out of earshot before continuing. She cleared her throat, and the other elders dispersed in an instant.

"I have…talked with the others. We feel that you are a valuable part of the clan, and we wish to…" Marethari searched for the words. "We wish to grant you the ability to use lyrium."

Revan raised her brow in disbelief. "Lyrium? But I thought you had to be born with the ability to use it!"

"You do," Marethari stated, strolling along the path. Revan spun and followed. "And you were, according to your…'holocron.' However, since you have this 'Force,' you cannot use lyrium. That is, unless you partake in a ritual."

"Mmm, rituals…" Revan mused. "From what you and Merrill have told me, they're nasty."

"Usually," the Keeper agreed. "This one is still…bad, but we agree that you can be trusted."

"So, you're just giving me power? Just like that? You barely know me!" Revan exclaimed.

Marethari chuckled, "Exactly."

Revan pondered this. "I have done terrible things with power," she informed the elf after a minute of thinking.

"I have no doubt you have," she responded. "You seem the type who has seen much during your short life."

"And you still trust me with it?"

"The fact that you are trying to dissuade me from giving you the power is proof enough that you will not abuse it," the Keeper observed.

"Perhaps I'm trying to delude you into thinking that I'm a good person," Revan pointed out. "Then, you'll offer me this power and I will use it to obliterate your clan."

The Keeper laughed at the suggestion. "My dear, I think you would have done that already if you had wanted to destroy the clan."

Revan smiled. The Keeper really did trust her, which she hadn't expected to happen. And she really did want to give Revan an enormous amount of power. Revan had seen the Keeper and her First at work, and she had seen the power of this lyrium they used. It was just as powerful as the Force, and just as dangerous. If Revan accepted Marethari's offer, she would be susceptible not just to the Dark side, but also to demons from the Fade. Even though she wanted to accept it, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to resist both.

"I…I need to think about it," she responded after a minute of careful contemplation.

The Keeper nodded in acknowledgement. "Take your time, _Mi'harel_."

Revan returned to the _aravel_ , deep in thought. Like a good Jedi, she carefully weighed the risks with the benefits, contemplated the possible consequences of every decision, and evaluated her own self to see if she was worthy. Throughout it all, the memories of her past haunted her, coloring her thoughts with doubt. She _had_ done horrible, horrible things with power that she had been given freely. Could she trust herself not to repeat the mistakes of the past?

She waged war with herself for several more days. The clan, meanwhile, had found a suitable spot to pitch camp, and the Dalish began setting up. Revan helped, but she was only performing her duties in a perfunctory manner, her mind still deadlocked with indecision.

Lyna and Fenarel, concerned with Revan's mental health, dragged her with them to scout the area for game trails, water sources, and potentially dangerous places in the forest, one of the hunters' many duties. They didn't understand why she was so lethargic and unresponsive and hoped that an outing in the woods would clear her mind.

"Are you okay, _Mi'harel_?" Fenarel asked her a few minutes after they had left.

"I…I'm fine," Revan stared ahead, avoiding their gazes.

"You don't seem fine," Lyna pointed out.

Revan closed her eye, letting her senses guide her. "I…just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Let us help!" Lyna begged, grabbing her arm. "We're your friends!"

Revan stopped in her tracks. "Friends?"

"Yeah, _Mi'harel_. We're friends. Or, so I thought," the young woman said.

Revan hadn't thought about it. Her mind had been so focused on herself that she had forgotten about everyone else. Revan realized that they were her friends. She needed to tell them about Marethari's offer, especially since it affected them too.

She sighed, and stated, "You want to help me? Marethari offered to make me a mage, and I don't know what to do."

Lyna and Fenarel exchanged startled glances. That wasn't the answer they had been expecting.

"Well, accept it!" Tamlen emerged from the trees. They all turned to look at him, surprise reflecting in their eyes. "What?"

"Don't sneak up on us like that!" Lyna yelled at him.

"If you had been paying attention, you would have heard me coming!" he retorted.

"And if you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that we were kind of preoccupied!" she returned.

Revan and Fenarel exchanged knowing glances. Fenarel leaned closer to her and whispered, "I think you should accept, as well."

"I have done atrocious things with power," Revan told him as Lyna and Tamlen argued in the background. "Horrible things. If I was granted more power now, I don't know if I'll be able to control it. I don't wish to endanger the clan."

Fenarel thought about this. "I trust you. I wouldn't have taken you on as a partner, otherwise."

Revan smiled in gratitude. Together, they surreptitiously slipped past the arguing couple and arrived back in camp. Fenarel accompanied Revan to the Keeper's _aravel_ , where she was mixing yet more salves.

"Keeper," Revan bowed respectfully at her open door.

Marethari paused and looked down. "Yes, _Mi'harel_? Have you made a decision?"

"Yes, Keeper," Revan said. She looked and Fenarel for reassurance; he nodded, and she continued. "I accept your offer, if it is still open."

The aging Keeper cracked a smile. "Alright, then, _Mi'harel._ Find my First and tell her you have accepted. She will prepare the ritual."

Revan bowed again and left to find Merrill. She and Fenarel walked in silence, having nothing further to say. Merrill was at Variel's _aravel_ , a sweet young woman who had recently joined the clan. She had brought her young sister with her, as well. Revan had often seen them by the fire, listening with interest to Paivel's tales with the other young people of the clan. The little girl, Emmeline, seemed to possess a great deal of raw magical talent, and if Merrill hadn't been Marethari's First, she probably would be. Merrill, upon closer inspection, was trying to approach the girl, who was slowly backing away, toward the forest. Variel stood nearby, waiting apprehensively. The girl's arm hung at a strange angle, and tears streaked her face, but still Merrill hung back. Perhaps it was due to the vicious burn marks surrounding the child and the bushes with little candle-like flames burning on their tips.

Revan walked up beside Merrill and laid her hand lightly on the timid First's shoulder. Merrill jumped a bit, on edge because of the threat of the girl's magic. "Let me try," Revan told her softly.

Carefully, as if approaching a wild beast, Revan lithely glided toward the young girl. Emmeline backed away in fear, but before she could make a move to defend herself, Revan squatted, resting on her calves. With a smile, Revan asked, "Have you ever heard the story of Mission?"

Emmeline looked puzzled. "No," she said innocently.

"I'm surprised!" Revan exclaimed. "She is famous from where I come from!" Of course, this was a bit of an exaggeration, but, considering that Mission, the Twi'lek girl that had accompanied her on her quest to defeat Malak, now owned a prestigious business that was beginning to branch all over the galaxy, it wasn't too much of a stretch.

However, this had caught Emmeline's attention. So, Revan continued. "Mission was a fighter. When she was young, only about your age, her brother took her to the world of Taris, where only the strongest survive. Then, he met a girl and, to get his sister off his back so he could make more money, left her on Taris. To survive…" Revan continued talking, telling all she knew about Mission's past, making up exciting stories every once and awhile. Eventually, Emmeline sat on the ground to get more comfortable, completely forgetting the pain of her fractured arm in the excitement of the story. Revan discreetly gestured to Merrill to advance cautiously. Merrill understood, and carrying her salves and bandages in one arm and her staff tucked under another, set the girl's arm and loosely mended the bones with magic to stimulate the healing process. Revan continued talking, winding up the tale.

"So, she shot the swindler square in the forehead. He fell to the floor, as dead as a doorknob. Then, she and Zalbaar gathered up their stolen merchandise, flew back to the station they had bought, and set up shop."

"And?" Emmeline asked eagerly. "What happened then?"

"Well, that's where she is today," Revan concluded as Merrill stepped back. "Selling her wares to the rich and the poor, helping all those in need that know where to find her."

"That's it?" Emmeline begged. "But, how does she die? All the heroes in the stories die!"

Revan smiled her sad smile. "Mission's special: she hasn't died yet. But now, your mother is calling."

"Oh!" she protested, but skulked off anyhow. Revan pushed herself off her now-sore calves, standing and stretching like a cat. She saw Fenarel jump to his feet as well, since he had been listening as well. Merrill approached Revan, rubbing her arm awkwardly.

"Thank you, _Mi'harel_ ," she looked at the ground.

"You are welcome," Revan said. "Children don't know how to handle pain like adults do. The best way to treat them is to distract them."

She nodded, still not meeting Revan's gaze.

"Is everything okay?" the Jedi asked.

"Yes, everything is fine," Merrill responded perfunctorily. "Is there something you needed, _Mi'harel_?"

"Yeah, there was something," Revan racked her brain. "Oh, I have accepted the Keeper's offer."

Merrill sighed, but said, "Very well. I will prepare the ritual. Even though I have no idea what I'm doing, or how to do it. Or why she can't do it herself."

Revan assumed that she and Marethari had had another argument. Most of the time, the Keeper and her apprentice didn't see eye-to-eye, as the saying went. Merrill sulked off to do the things that the ritual required. Then, Revan turned to Fenarel, a grin crossing her face.

"I did good," she proclaimed.

The elf laughed. "Yes, _Mi'harel_ , you did good. You know, you should reconsider being a hunter. You'd make an excellent storyteller!"

Revan chuckled at the idea. "Most of my stories would be about war and death, and besides, most of that story I told Emmeline was made up anyway."

Fenarel shrugged, and they made their merry way to the campfire, where Paivel was telling another story, this one based on actual events, and not on Revan's mind.

A few hours later, as the sun was setting in the sky, Merrill touched Revan on the shoulder.

"It's time," she said darkly.

Fenarel took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Giving him a sad smile, Revan followed Merrill to the grassy area behind the Keeper's _aravel_. The Keeper was there, her face illuminated by a small fire. Next to her lay a wooden stirring rod, a glowing knife, and a silver chalice. The chalice held a dark liquid that reminded Revan of blood. The Keeper met and held Revan's stare, almost as if she was verifying that Revan was ready for this by staring into her soul.

"Are you ready?" Marethari finally asked.

"Yes," Revan took a deep breath.

The Keeper grabbed the knife and stood. Merrill quickly retrieved the chalice and followed on the older woman's heels. Revan grimaced as she realized what they were going to do, but she held out her hand nonetheless. A small smile crossed Marethari's face when she did this, and again the Keeper adopted the attitude of a pedagogue.

"Not your blood, dear," she explained. "The blood required must come from a mage."

Revan looked from Marethari to Merrill, who nodded solemnly. "I have to drink _Merrill's_ blood?" she asked incredulously.

"Unfortunately," Merrill confirmed with a sour expression.

"That, combined with the raw lyrium and dragon's blood, imbued with a magical ritual Merrill performed earlier, will enable your body to use lyrium," Marethari explained as she grasped Merrill's hand firmly with her old, veined talons. She took the dagger, which Revan realized was made of lyrium, and cut Merrill's palm vertically.

"Ow!" Merrill complained.

"You've suffered more pain than this, child," Marethari reminded her as she tipped Merrill's hand over the chalice. The blood ran down, dripping down into the dark blood below, gleaming like liquid rubies in the firelight. With a small grin, Marethari handed the faintly glowing chalice to Revan and said, "Drink up."

"What, no secret incantations?" Revan asked facetiously.

"No, just drink," the Keeper said, watching Revan's face intently.

Revan looked into the black blood, and with an unceremonious shrug, drank the contents.

"Hmm…" Revan lowered the chalice, having drunk its contents. "Tastes like cherri—"

The pain hit her like a meteorite, worse than anything she had ever experienced. And, as the pain overwhelmed her entire being, she blacked out for the third time in her life.


	4. Act IV

Act IV: Brecilian Forest

The first thing Revan noticed was how clear it was with her eyes closed. Before, though she had been able to see every living creature, it had been dull compared to what she now saw. Everything glowed now, detailing the world around her without having to open her eyes at all. She saw her friends crowding around her cot; she could make out every crevice and line on their faces, every strand of their hair. And, with a strong force of will, she was able to shut it out, as if she was merely closing her eyes.

Revan opened her eye, her physical eye, and tilted her head to look at her friends. Lyna, Fenarel, and Tamlen were seated close to her cot, whispering amongst themselves so they didn't disturb her. Merrill, as usual, stood a few paces away, yet again distancing herself from the other members of her clan. Merrill noticed she was awake first. Revan smirked at Merrill, who gave her the normal wide-eyed, scared, cornered-doe look.

"Um, excuse me, but…" Merrill said quietly to the hunters, not looking away from Revan.

The others looked at her, saw where she was looking, and finally noticed that Revan was complacently watching them. " _Mi'harel_!" they cried, almost in unison.

"Hello to you all, too," she propped herself up on her elbow. It was then that she noticed that her entire body was stiff. "How long have I been out?"

Thus began the torrent of stories. Fenarel tried to answer her, while Lyna told about all that had happened while she had been unconscious and Tamlen argued with everything she said. Merrill looked at them, thoroughly confused and a bit disturbed. Revan quietly chuckled as they bickered good-naturedly with each other. Finally Merrill, out of desperation, cast a spell of silence over them with a wave of her hands. The three continued to argue for a few seconds until they figured out that no sound was coming out of their mouths. They all cast dark looks at Merrill, who purposely ignored them.

"You've been out for two days," the First said, rather matter-of-factly. "Or a day and a half, if you want to be technical, but really just two days. The Keeper expected you to be unconscious for a bit longer, so she told me to keep an eye on you, and these three just decided to stick around. You wouldn't believe how annoying they can be! I told them to leave a few hours ago, but they refused. They didn't understand that you might not wake up for—"

"You're rambling again," Revan pointed out.

She stopped, her hands in the air, and then asked with exasperation, "Are you even listening?"

Revan smiled, but otherwise didn't respond.

Finally, the spell broke on Lyna, Fenarel, and Tamlen. While Tamlen and Fenarel gave the First paralyzing dirty looks and murmured elvish curses under their breaths, Lyna cleared her throat. "Well? Can you use magic now?"

Merrill had explained enough about magic to Revan during their many conversations that she had a rudimentary knowledge of how to use the power. Or, at least, that's what she hoped. She extended her hand toward the open ground and, reaching into her mind, drew on the power there. She concentrated on it, remembering how to summon fire. A stream of fire shot from her hand, scorching the grass and earth. Her friends cheered as Revan let go of the mana, collapsing back on the cot. Apparently, the price for having magic was having little energy to use it.

Merrill grinned broadly. "Now I can teach you all about magic! Won't it be fun? I can already tell you will be a great mage!"

"Wait, doesn't this mean she can't hunt with us anymore?" Tamlen turned toward the First.

She retreated into herself again, becoming a timid introvert. "I…well, I…I don't—"

"Of course she can hunt with you," Marethari glided up behind her apprentice. "Now, _Mi'harel_ has wearied herself enough. Go along now, there are still duties to be done today."

With a few grumbles, the three hunters got up, and giving Revan a look of farewell, left to go about their duties. Merrill bowed to the Keeper and retreated, fading into the background with ease.

The Keeper sat on a stump that one of the hunters had used and leaned forward. "So," she started, "how are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," Revan answered honestly. "Using magic is hard!"

Marethari smiled. "It should come easier with practice. I remembered the days of exhaustion I endured when I was a young First."

"It's hard to imagine you as 'young,' Keeper," she commented. Marethari laughed good-naturedly and strode off, leaving Revan to rest.

* * *

 

Over the next week, Merrill taught her the basics in magic. Gradually, basic spells became easier for her to use, but using magic was still tiring. Revan continued hunting with her friends, but Marethari had started asking her for help on a regular basis. She assisted the Keeper with various tasks, from herb drying to healing minor wounds. Marethari explained that Merrill was working on harder tasks, and she needed help with the more menial chores.

The Keeper had them move camp again a week later, taking them even closer to the western border of the forest. Lyna was a little nervous about being so close to human settlement, but Tamlen was looking forward to scaring some shems. Fenarel just shook his head in resignation. As they discussed the humans, Revan listened with wonder at how quickly they had forgotten her own race. It was as if she had always been an elf.

That illusion however, was quickly broken in a space of a few days.

Revan discovered two things in those days: one, if you did not remember your identity, someone else would, and two, high dragons always had nests. She discovered the second the following day, when she and her friend were scouting the area, as they usually did every time the camp moved. The Keeper had warned them that there was a village directly to the west, which they were to take precautions to avoid. So they had gone directly east, delving back into the deeper part of the forest. They had been expecting a lack of game because of the nearby human settlement, but the forest seemed unusually empty for early fall. No birds sang in the forest, no insects scurried along in the dirt, no squirrels nimbly leaped from branch to branch. Lyna mentioned the phenomenon, but Revan had been dying for a chance at action, and Tamlen was itching to use his bow, on animals or people. So, heedless of the danger, they pressed on. That was, until they heard the screams.

Revan could easily detect the two males screaming at the top of their lungs, half crying for help and half screaming in terror. They all exchanged a worried, wordless glance and bounded off in the direction of the screams, only to stumble directly into a nest of dragonlings and drakes, the dragon's male counterparts. The nest was little more than a hollowed-out depression in the ground with a shallow cave complex dug into one side of the cavity, but it was teeming with the scaly reptilians. The men were standing atop a boulder nestled on the side nearest Revan, mere inches away from pulling themselves to relative safety. The drakes were enjoying their cornered prey far too much, snapping and hissing at them, slowly driving them to the brink of mental collapse.

Without analyzing the situation at all, Revan boldly dashed toward the edge of the nest and jumped down, challenging all of the dragon's kin with her recklessness. She landed with one hand on the ground to absorb the shock and stabilize herself. All their proud heads snapped in her direction, which was when she realized that she had made a huge mistake. There were at least five drakes, and almost a hundred dragonlings, far too many for her to take on herself, even if she had dispatched their matriarch.

With a foolish grin, she accepted that it was too late to back out and drew her Poison Blade. Fury flashed in the drakes' eyes as they sensed the lingering scent of the blood of their mistress on the blade. She jumped up to face the nearest one just to find that and arrow was already protruding from its skull. The drake slumped to the ground, and Revan saw Fenarel knock another arrow. She grinned, and moved on to the next opponent. Soon, however, she was threatening to be overwhelmed. Dragonlings vied with each other to rip her to shreds with their small yet deadly claws. Drakes were a challenge, considering the constant threat of their fire and their highly armored skin.

She slashed left, ducked, parried up, cut right and down. Every one that fell was replaced by another. In desperation, she let a wave of magic explode around her, throwing all the dragonlings back and even momentarily staggering the drakes. Immediately Revan could feel weariness descending upon her from the effort, but she couldn't stop fighting. Not now.

It was then, when she was weak from exertion, that the drake struck. He spit a stream of fire, which Revan could only deflect in vain with her exposed forearm. She gasped in pain as the fire seared her skin, but when she looked down, her arm was fully intact. There were no burn marks, no scorched flesh turning black in the violent air, just pink flesh marred from the claws of her opponents when they had been lucky enough to land a blow. Revan couldn't contemplate the reason for this, considering that the drake was advancing upon her.

She dashed forward and rolled, slicing open the drake's soft underbelly. He let out a roar of pain, and, stumbling, died. The dragonlings suddenly stopped advancing, and with screams of grief, fled into the shallow caves at the other end of the crater. The fight was over. Without adults to hunt for them, the dragonlings would die of starvation.

Her friends lifted the terrorized humans up out of the nest and onto solid ground. Their posture was dominating, threatening, as if ready to draw their daggers and plunge it into the shems' hearts at any sign of resistance. Revan jumped, using the Force to negate gravity for a brief moment, and landed on the grass next to the humans. She could see the surprise in their eyes at a human in cohorts with elves, and she played upon this fact.

"Leave," Revan said with force as she meet their surprised stares. "Now."

The shems scrambled to their feet and ran as if still being chased by the dragons. They disappeared into the trees. Revan could sense Tamlen's displeasure that she had let them go, but she happened to have sympathy for her own race.

"That was perhaps the stupidest, and possibly bravest, thing I think I've seen anyone do," Fenarel commented.

"What? Letting them go?" Revan turned around to face him.

"No; facing an entire nest of dragons alone. What were you thinking?"

Revan shrugged, "I wasn't, actually."

Fenarel pressed a hand to his head in exasperation. "Well," Lyna started after a moment's pause, "it was a good thing we were here to save you then."

* * *

 

The two humans burst through the trees near their village, bloody, bruised, and breathless. They had been running for hours, driven on by fear. The villagers that had been leisurely strolling the streets stopped and rushed over to the two men, calling to their neighbors as they ran. Soon a crowd gathered around them. They were given water, food, blankets, and spirits to calm them down. Finally, one man, the blacksmith and self-appointed mayor, came forward to speak with them.

"What happened to you two?" he asked gruffly.

"D-d-d-dragons! And Dalish!" one of them stammered.

"Dalish?" The cacophony of whispers increased.

"And they had a human woman with them!" the other one added. The whispers turned into gasps and excited chatter as people assumed the direst of possibilities.

"Where did you see them?" the blacksmith grabbed the stammerer's shirtfront.

"T-t-to the e-east!" he confessed.

The blacksmith dropped the frightened man and turned toward the crowd. "Then we must take it upon ourselves to teach these heathen Dalish a lesson. We move tomorrow. At dusk."

* * *

 

Darkness had blanketed the forest in its cold embrace. Revan sat in Ashalle's _aravel_ , practicing a few basic illumination spells while the rest of the clan slept soundly. She always enjoyed these small, private moments. She could contemplate her situation without fear of someone questioning the far-off look on her face, or the distance of space that was reflected in her eyes as she thought of her friends, or Carth, that were lightyears beyond her reach. How she missed him! Every moment away from him hurt, as if someone was constantly punching her in the stomach. It lessened when she was with others, but feeling it fully helped remind her why she was here on this forsaken world.

It was during these small hours that she began to feel, or rather see, the dim presences off in the woods to the west. They were growing closer. Her Force-granted premonition told her that they were malignant, malicious beings, and Force premonitions, however faint and obscure they were, were usually right. Revan grabbed the Poison Blade, but then thought better of it and drew out her lightsaber from among her few meager possessions. Then, without second thoughts, she set out in the darkness to stalk the spiteful souls.

Her special sight proved incredibly useful in the dark. She could see almost everything, faintly glowing with microorganisms that teemed upon practically every surface. So it was no surprise that she saw the humans before they had even suspected her presence. They were armed with crude weapons, from yew bows to pitchforks and shovels. Apparently their main strategy relied upon surprise. Or they could have been stupid. Or both.

Revan positioned herself in the darkest shadows in front of the human male supposedly leading the band of humans. She assumed he was the leader, considering that he was the largest and was walking in front of the rest of the shems. A shot of anger went through Revan as it became apparent that they were going to murder her clan. Her body began to shake imperceptibly, and only years of training allowed her to retain a semblance of control. Such was the difficulty of being neither Light nor Dark, but such thoughts were irrelevant at this point. Revan readied her lightsaber, though she did not activate it. Instead, she walked forward to meet the humans.

The leader stopped in his tracks as he finally saw her form approaching, mere meters away. He was a big man, but Revan had faced bigger. A large hammer was clutched in his hand. Apparently, he was surprised at her arrival.

"Turn back now," Revan said quietly with barely-restrained anger. "Or face the consequences."

"No, we will not turn back. You scum kidnapped an innocent woman! You will all die!" he spat.

Revan laughed. Later, the villagers would claim that when she looked back at the blacksmith, her eyes were tinged yellow. "You ignorant fool, _I_ am _the woman_!"

Revan activated her lightsaber, temporarily blinding the villagers. She sprang forward, her every movement accentuated with the power of the Force. She slashed left and right. The villagers fell with barely a murmur in protest. But her anger quickly faded, giving way to the need to protect the innocent that every Jedi possessed. The Dalish had done nothing wrong, and yet these people would slaughter them all. She perfunctorily cut them down, one by one. Finally, the last one dropped to the ground. Breathing only mildly hard, Revan looked around as she deactivated her blade. That was when Marethari appeared.

The Keeper strode forward, a look of wonder upon her face. She kneeled next to one of the villagers and then looked to Revan. "He is alive!"

"They all are," Revan said mechanically. "It is wrong to kill those too ignorant to see beyond their own prejudices. How else will they learn to overcome what they were taught?"

Marethari found one of the villagers hiding safely in the bushes. She told him to fetch the other villagers to come and take their wounded back to the village. With an overly enthusiastic nod, he rushed off into the darkness. Revan stood among the men, surveying what she had wrought. The Keeper laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"There is something we need to discuss with you, _Mi'harel_ ," she said in a soothing tone and led Revan back to the camp.

Marethari took her into Master Ilen's _aravel_ , where all the elders of the tribe, plus Merrill, were waiting. Revan, as numb as she was, looked at them in confusion. Before she could ask what was going on, Paivel began to speak.

"In all our history," he began, "the shems have mostly been our enemies. They brought us the quickening, they stripped us of our homeland, they bound us in chains. And, even when they deemed to help us, they abandoned us after we had served our part. Very few shemlins have proven themselves a friend to the Dalish. None have proven themselves to be worthy of the Dalish." He paused for effect. "Until you."'

"What?" Revan asked quietly, her brows knit in mild confusion.

"We welcome you, _Mi'harel_ ," the Keeper declared, "as a true clan sister."

Revan's eyes widened in shock. "Me? As…as a Dalish? But I'm a shem! I can't—"

"Ah, but you can," Ilen interrupted her. "You have the heart of a Dalish, if not the blood. And we—" he gestured to the other elders "—have agreed that in your case, the heart is more important than the mind."

Revan looked down, taking her situation in. _Dalish_ …it made sense. But, given the general attitude towards humans, she had never actually expected to be fully initiated in the clan.

"Now," Ilen continued, "we feel you are ready to gain the _vallaslin,_ the blood writing. It will show all those whom you meet that you are one of us, for they will doubt you."

"But, don't I need to prepare? Meditate on the gods?" Revan asked, a tad overwhelmed.

Merrill stepped forward. "The Keeper has asked me to assist you with this. I shall prepare you, and then you shall be given the gift of the _vallaslin_."

After a numb nod of compliance from Revan, the First took her by the arm and led her to a nearby spring to cleanse her skin. Merrill then explained the steps that she had to undergo, excitement coloring her speech. Revan absorbed it, nodding but not saying a word. She could still barely comprehend the fact that she was Dalish now.

She was led back to Ilen's _aravel_. He and Merrill would be the ones to give her the tattoos that would define her position as Dalish. They instructed her to lay on her stomach upon a table covered with tanned animal hides. Revan would remain awake through the process, for surviving the pain was part of the process. And it hurt. The pain was as intense as the blood ritual had been, but this time it didn't knock her unconscious. Usually, Ilen commented as he punctured her skin with fine needles that injected the ink into her skin, the tattoos were drawn on the face. But, considering her situation, they had decided to give her a more elaborate tattoo, one covering almost her entire back. Though she would suffer more pain, it would be Ilen's greatest work. He claimed that he and Merrill had been preparing it for months, waiting for the Keeper to decide when to initiate Revan. After hours on her stomach, they turned her over and did the last part of the design on her breastbone. She gritted her teeth, tears stinging her eyes, but none fell. Finally, as the early light of dawn philtered into the _aravel_ , Ilen pronounced that they were finished.

Merrill looked overly pleased. An infectious smile burst onto her face, and, though Revan's entire body ached, Revan smiled back. "Come here," Merrill dragged her over to a mirror. "And look!"

Revan's eyes were immediately drawn to the dragon's head on her breastbone. It stared back at her with piercing black eyes. The head and neck were filled with intricate patterns and small, complex symbols. Revan followed its neck, which wrapped around her lower neck and moved onto her back. The dragon's body was even more elaborate than its head, filled with symbols and lines and simple yet elegant shapes. Its wings spread onto her shoulders; its tail wrapped itself around her left thigh. An eight-armed design was outlined boldly between the dragon's shoulder blades, and a dark circle with a dot directly in the center sat between its hipbones.

It was beautiful. Revan was speechless, but apparently her eye said it all. Merrill squealed a little in joy and then handed Revan her clothes. "I am _so_ glad you like it!" she exclaimed as Revan gingerly put her clothes on. "The Keeper had me practicing the runes for almost a month!"

"Runes?" Revan asked innocently as she warily let her shirt slide down onto her back.

"Yeah," Merrill continued. "She told me, 'Make sure they're perfect! _Mi'harel_ will need them!'"

Revan paused. "So, they aren't just designs?"

"Oh, no!" Merrill cried. "Those designs are ancient. At least, some of them are. Some I've never seen before, but most I've seen in ruins and such."

Revan nodded silently as she finished dressing. Seeing that she was done, Merrill led her out of the _aravel_ and into a throng of elves. Almost every elf in the clan was waiting outside Ilen's _aravel_ to greet their new clan sister. They touched her affectionately on the shoulder as she passed, not saying a word and yet conveying an enormous sense of pride and acceptance in a simple gesture. Revan felt happier in those few moments than she had since she had been alone with Carth. Merrill led her back to Ashalle's _aravel_ , and with an affectionate hug, left to resume her duties as First. So, Revan stretched and tried not to aggravate her back. At least, she tried to, but minutes later Lyna, Tamlen, and Fenarel burst into the _aravel_. The swarmed her, hugging her and touching her still-sore shoulder in friendly jollity. It was after they had disentangled themselves from her that Revan noticed the long package Fenarel was carrying.

"This is from the clan," he said as a broad smile pasted itself across his face. "We thought it would be a little less conspicuous than the glowing blade you used last night."

Revan flushed slightly, but accepted the gift gratefully. She unwrapped it to find a beautifully crafted sword made of dragonbone. It was light, easily wielded, but it was sharp and deadly. Revan thrust it, feeling its balance and quality. There were few blades in the galaxy that could rival this one in fineness.

"It's…" Revan gazed at it reverently. "I…"

"Don't thank us," Tamlen cut her off. "We all know you saved the clan last night. We wouldn't have awoken this morning if you hadn't been here."

* * *

 

Another month went by. Revan had been fully accepted by the clan. It was as if she had been born in the clan. Her new life would have been perfect, if Carth had been there. But that month was one of the happiest she had ever had. Gradually, the pain of the tattoo had faded, and so had the human threat. And then it all came tumbling down.

It started one early morning when Tamlen and Lyna were out hunting. There had been nothing wrong when they had left, but as the day wore on, Revan became aware of a few dim beings in the distance. As soon as she felt them, she had known something was wrong. But she tried to ignore it. Certainly, it was nothing. But by midafternoon, there had been no sign of either Tamlen or Lyna. Revan feared the worst. She grabbed her blades and began tracking them as best as she could. Which, actually, turned out to be quite easy. Mangled humanoid creatures were sprawled every so often along a trail that was unfamiliar to Revan, but she followed it anyway. The mangled creatures were darkspawn. They glowed differently in her sight than any other living creature, but she had recognized them without it. Her heart beat furiously.

The trail led her through two rock faces and then stopped in front of an opening to a cave. Rubble was scattered near the entrance. Revan stopped cold as she saw a dark-skinned man leaning over what appeared to be Lyna's body. Her entire body went numb.

She quietly approached the man from behind, her dragonbone sword firmly in hand. He was engrossed in examining Lyna, so he never noticed her arrival. She stuck the tip of her sword on the back of his neck. He froze.

" _What did you do to her_?" Revan said coldly.

The man didn't move a muscle, but calmly said, "I am trying to help her."

Revan narrowed her eyes. "How can I trust you?"

"I don't know," he said, "but if you don't, she _will_ die."

Revan glanced at Lyna's limp body. She could tell she was alive by the slight rise and fall of her chest, and there weren't any visible wounds on her body. But Revan could faintly see the glow of the darkspawn filling her body. The foul creatures had poisoned her. Revan knew from all those years ago that their corruption would kill the strongest man within days. Her shoulders slumped as all hope deserted her. She lowered her blade. The man was no threat now.

"She's been poisoned," Revan said quietly. "She will die anyway."

The dark man slowly turned to face her and stood up. A flicker of surprise flashed across his face as he realized she was human, but he wisely held his tongue.

"If she wakes up," he said, "I can help her."

It was then that Revan noticed the corruption running through his own veins. She shied away from him. "You are poisoned, too!"

The man smiled sadly. "Yes, I am. I am a Grey Warden."

Revan felt her old weariness of Wardens return. She had been told Wardens were the enemy the first time she had been in Thedas. Now, she knew the opposite to be true. Still, old habits die hard.

"How did you know? That their blood ran through us?" he asked.

This time, Revan gave him a sad smile. "I'm just talented, I guess."

The man wasn't satisfied with the answer, but he didn't press her further. Instead, he slung Lyna's arm around his shoulder, lifted her off the ground, and asked Revan to lead them back to the camp. Though she was still suspicious of him, Revan complied. She couldn't let Lyna die.

"Did you see another? A man, about her age?" Revan asked as they began walking.

"No," he stated. "I had sensed the darkspawn in the area, and when I arrived, I found her unconscious outside the ruins."

Revan nodded. She would have to tell the Keeper that Tamlen was missing.

The Keeper was, thankfully, the first to notice their arrival at camp. She hurried over as soon as she noticed Lyna's limp body in the man's arms.

"What happened?" she said, leading them to her _aravel_.

"Darkspawn," the man stated simply.

"And Tamlen is missing," Revan added.

"Quickly," she opened the door. "I might be able to stop the spread of the poison, but we must act fast."

She pulled out a cot, which the man laid Lyna on. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. The Keeper kneeled next to the cot and began murmuring ancient words of healing over her body. A faint blue light emanated from her hands. Revan, trying to make herself useful, went for some cold water to try and keep her fever down. She returned to find everything as she had left it. The man stood in the corner, waiting patiently, and Marethari stood chanting over Lyna. Revan grabbed a cloth, soaked it in the water, and held it on Lyna's forehead. The girl was burning hot.

Finally, Marethari finished her little chant and turned to the man. "We have met before, but the memory is distant."

"Yes, it is," the man agreed. He crossed his arms and bowed. "I am Duncan, the Grey Warden."

"And I am Marethari, Keeper of the Sabrae Clan," the Keeper bowed back. "And this is—"

"—Dragonheart," Duncan interrupted her, nodding gravely. "At least, that is what the humans are calling her."

Revan and the Keeper exchanged a confused glance. "Dragonheart?" Revan repeated.

"Yes," he answered. "Rumors of a human Dalish travel fast. And so did your feat of slaying an entire nest of dragons."

Revan grimaced, about to protest, but Marethari cut her off. " _Mi'harel_ , I need you to fetch Merrill. You, Duncan, and Merrill will go to the ruins and find out what happened to Tamlen, and how Lyna got poisoned. I will try to save her."

Revan bowed to her in understanding and left, the Grey Warden trailing after her. Merrill was nearby, gathering herbs just outside of camp. She was totally oblivious to what was happening.

"Oh, hello, _Mi'harel_! Who is—"

"Lyna has been poisoned by darkspawn and Tamlen is missing. The Keeper wants you to come with us to search for him," Revan told her bluntly.

The First's face grew deathly pale. "W-what? Tamlen…? Lyna…!"

Revan nodded gravely. Merrill clutched her head, muttering to herself, cursing her pantheon of gods. Finally, she got control of herself. She took a deep breath and exhaled it, and then met Revan's eye. Duncan stood silently behind them, like a stone guardian.

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, obviously steeling herself for the worst.

Without a word, Revan spun and led them out of the camp. No one stopped them. Revan led them down the trail and into the cave, which had already been overrun with darkspawn. Something had attracted them to the ruin, and that something had probably poisoned Lyna. Merrill was awed at this hidden ruin, since it showed evidence of being inhabited by the elves and humans of old. Revan slayed the monsters without emotion, but also without mercy. Every time she looked in their eyes, she could see a faint flash of recognition before the life fled them. It made her sick. However, she could sense Duncan watching her very carefully, perhaps measuring her up.

Finally, they came across a large, metal door hanging slightly open. Revan threw it open to find a room teeming with darkspawn. They all looked up at her arrival and screeched at her. Mechanically, she raised her hand and let out a torrent of energy in the form of lightning, a power she had learned as a Sith. The lightning struck down almost all of the darkspawn within milliseconds. The rest Merrill dispatched with a stream of fire from her staff. Unfortunately, her little trick had taken what was left of her energy. She leaned heavily against the doorframe and surveyed the room as her energy returned. In the center of the room was a full-length mirror upon a pedestal, with two giant statues on either side. The statues were identical, made of stone and resembling ancient warriors. However, the mirror was blank. It reflected nothing.

Duncan walked cautiously up to the mirror. "This is what caused the taint," he said matter-of-factly.

"That's…" Merrill started, slowly approaching it with reverence.

"…an _Eluvian_ ," Revan finished. "It must be ancient."

Duncan then pulled out his sword and stabbed it through the mirror. The glass shattered, and Merrill let out a cry of anguish.

"Why did you _do_ that?" she cried, falling to her knees. "That was a piece of our history! That was a piece of what we had lost!"

"It also poisoned your friend and brought the darkspawn here," Duncan said coolly. "It needed to be destroyed so no one else will fall victim to its power."

He descended the steps and gingerly lifted the sobbing First to her feet. "Our work is done here. I'm sure the Keeper needs you two."

Revan gave him a curt nod. She knew they could do nothing for Tamlen. He was gone, and hopefully dead. Death, Revan knew, would be a mercy.

Merrill, however, didn't realize this. "And Tamlen? What of him? Are we just going to leave him?"

"He's gone, Merrill," she said sadly. "He is beyond our help."

Hearing it from Revan was like a slap in the face for Merrill. Her eyes widened in grief, the breath knocked from her chest. Only Duncan's strong arms kept her on her feet. Supporting her, the Grey Warden followed Revan out of the ruin and back to the camp. They headed to Marethari's _aravel_ , where Ashalle and Fenarel waited anxiously. Revan didn't have to say a word. Ashalle turned away, tears in her eyes, and Fenarel numbly took a chair and stared blankly ahead. Marethari didn't stop chanting. She barely noticed their arrival, but Revan had the feeling that she had known Tamlen's fate as soon as Revan and Duncan had brought Lyna back.

For hours, possibly days, the four of them waiting with bated breath for Lyna's fever to break. Marethari continued to chant away, refusing to eat or sleep, but Merrill, perhaps to keep herself busy, made sure the others had at least a bit of bread to eat. Duncan seemed the calmest of them all, but that was because he had no connection to the girl. At last, Lyna opened her eyes. They were dull and clouded, a sure sign of darkspawn corruption. Revan and the others rushed to her side, and Marethari stopped chanting for a second. Revan took her hand, which was still scalding hot.

" _Tam_ …"she whispered hoarsely, sweating profusely. Even speaking a single word took a huge effort on her part.

"He's fine, _Lethallan_ ," Revan lied.

Lyna cracked a small smile, and closed her eyes. Her chest started to rise less and less, and finally, it stopped. She had died. Ashalle let out a cry of grief. Marethari began singing in a low yet clear voice. Revan recognized the song as an ancient elvish song about how death was not the final part of the journey. Revan began singing along with her, and then Fenarel joined.

It was after their solemn ritual that Duncan took her aside and asked her to become a Grey Warden.


	5. Act V

Act V: Brecilian Forest

"You can't be serious," Revan responded when Duncan proposed the idea of her becoming a Grey Warden.

"But I am," he stated in his calm, matter-of-fact way. "We need all the recruits we can get. You have shown that you can more than handle the darkspawn. We have desperate need of your skills."

Revan grimaced, remembering her previous time in Thedas. "I'd be a horrible Grey Warden."

Duncan smiled, his face dimly lit by the light of the waxing moon, but said, "I don't believe that."

"Look," Revan started. "I've done some things in the past that I'm not proud of, and joining the Wardens would bring it all back."

"I don't care what you did in the past," he met her eye, "but we have need of your skills now. Please, we _need_ you. There is a Blight coming, and we Wardens are the only thing standing between it and the people of Thedas. And our ranks are pitifully thin."

 _Blight_ …Revan's stomach sank. Those were not the words she wanted to hear. _There is a Blight coming…_ she clutched her head and tried to drown out the memories, the thoughts. _Blight…_

"But my clan…" she protested as she pushed his haunting news aside.

"I can wait until after the funeral," he assured her. "If you want."

She looked up to the sky, wishing that one of the old elvish gods would descend upon her and grant her some wisdom. But perhaps she needed to be a Warden. Perhaps this was a way to right her past wrongs. Of course, she could never rewrite the past, but maybe, just maybe, she could fix it. Otherwise, there would be even more blood on her hands.

"All right," she assented after a moment of contemplation. "I will join the Wardens. After the funeral."

Duncan grinned in a fatherly way and clapped her on the shoulder. "I will speak with your Keeper, then."

He left, and Revan felt compelled to seek Fenarel out. He was her closest friend, and she needed to tell him. She found him outside his _aravel_ , gazing up at the stars. Revan took a seat next to him.

"Why did it have to be them, _Mi'harel_?" he asked quietly.

"I've been asking myself that same question," she responded solemnly. There was a pause as they both took a measure of comfort in being near a friend during the devastatingly mournful hours of the night.

"Duncan wants me to become a Grey Warden," she finally told him.

Fenarel gave a small nod, as if expecting another blow to land. "When?"

"After the funeral."

He grunted. They sat in silence for another minute. A silent tear slid down Revan's cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.

"Should I do it?" she inquired. "Become a Warden, I mean."

Fenarel took a long look at the heavens above. "Before you came here, before you fell from the sky that day, I had a dream. There was a woman standing in front of a huge, malevolent dragon covered in spikes with red eyes. The woman had her back to me, but she had black hair, and she stood like a warrior. Then, wings sprouted from her back and she became a dragon. She fought the other dragon bitterly, and though she won, she died after her victory. After the other dragon died, this feeling of…light returned. I thought it was just a weird dream, but then you killed that high dragon, and you had her black hair. I don't know, maybe I'm crazy, but it seemed like a sign to me." He turned his head and met her eye. "I believe that there is something great that you must do, but I have no clue as to what it is. But I'm pretty sure you cannot accomplish it here among the Dalish. So yes, I think you should do it."

Revan took his hand and squeezed it as she stood up. "Thank you," she whispered quietly before she dropped his hand. He looked away, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. She went back to Ashalle's empty _aravel_ to pack. Minutes later, Marethari walked in as Revan was fingering the dragon's tooth hanging on a thong around her neck.

"So," Marethari looked around the space, "you are to become a Grey Warden."

"If you'll permit me to, Keeper," she responded respectfully, her hand still clutching the tooth.

"Of course I'll permit you to!" the Keeper said defensively, then shook her head in a tired fashion. "I'm too old for this much excitement. I should be meditating in some ancient ruin until both my mind and body have worn away. This Blight is for you young people. But enough of my ramblings. I came to give you my blessing, _Mi'harel_ , not my complaints."

Revan smiled sadly. "I don't _want_ to leave, you know."

"I know, dear," Marethari assured her as she took Revan's cold hands. "But you have to. You have much to do."

Revan furrowed her brow at the comment. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing," Marethari squeezed her hands and met her gaze. "I wanted to say good luck. May Mythal protect you, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."

"Thank you, Keeper," Revan lowered her eyes, both in respect and to hide her tears.

Marethari smiled warmly at her, then with a final squeeze, turned and started to leave.

"Keeper," Revan called her back.

Marethari turned back. "Yes?"

"When I was given my _vallaslin,_ Merrill said you gave her the design and told her to practice it until it was perfect. She claimed that you said I would need them. It's been bothering me for a while now, but I need to know: why would I need them?"

The Keeper sighed. She looked reluctant to speak, but did anyway.

"When I was a young First," she started, "I was sent into the Korcari Wilds. My Keeper told me that if I survived one week, alone, in the Wilds, he would teach me everything about magic that I ever wanted to know. It was an initiation of sorts. Well, I was a fool, and I got lost the second day. That was when _Asha'bellanar_ found me."

" _Asha'bellanar_? The witch?" Revan asked incredulously. "But Paivel said she was just a legend!"

"Yes, well, our beloved storyteller is not privy to all truths," Marethari said. "Anyway, _Asha'bellanar_ found me, and she took me to her little cottage at the southern edge of the Wilds. She sat me down and said I would see much in my life. She said I would see much death and destruction and misery, but she said that I would see much happiness as well. She was the strangest person I have ever met. She taught me some spells to help me survive, and told me that in return, I would have to help her in the future. Well, I readily agreed. So about a week before you came, she appeared in the forest. I went to her, and she handed me a drawing. She told me that one similar to her would arrive soon, and that the drawing would help her control her powers. Then she vanished. So, I complied. I don't know what powers you might have, and honestly I don't want to know. If you really want to know why those markings will help you, you yourself should seek her out."

Revan closed her eye as she absorbed what the Keeper told her. Then, she looked up and met the Keeper's motherly gaze.

"Thank you, Keeper," she bowed.

Marethari smiled. "The funeral is tomorrow. I should leave you to your packing. And, _Mi'harel_?"

"Yes?"

"There will always be a place for you here, in the clan," she stated. Revan gave her another sad smile, and she left.

* * *

 

The funeral was a grave affair. Everyone at camp had liked the young Dalish, and she was like a daughter to almost everyone since her parents had passed. Revan stood next to Fenarel while Merrill assisted Marethari in the ceremony. Duncan stood at the fringes of the crowd, impassively observing the wake. It wasn't that he was cold, just that he seemed detached, like he had bigger worries on his mind. The funeral was short, but it was painful. Lyna had been a good friend; she hadn't deserved to die. Revan felt guilty that she hadn't been the one in the ruins that day. But, she knew that she couldn't change that fact. Lyna was gone, and that was that.

She left immediately after they had planted the tree upon her grave. Those she passed touched her shoulder in a silent farewell. They were saddened to see so many of their clan be taken away, but they understood that the outside world had more need of her than they. Duncan waited as Revan gave Merrill one last hug, and then with a hand on her back, led her away from her clan. She wouldn't see them again for years.

Duncan, once they started traveling, turned out to be pleasant company. He knew much about Thedas that Marethari hadn't, and freely shared it without asking her why she didn't know it. By the end of their journey together, she could easily pass as a well-worn traveler in any of the countries in Thedas. During the day, they walked briskly along the main roads and talked. At night, they would eat and spar before sleeping. Duncan used the same style she did, wielding two swords in order to deal more damage. Soon, they had developed a healthy rivalry, much like siblings had since they were so evenly matched in skill. Still, despite the pleasant travel, Revan couldn't shake the depression looming around her. She couldn't seem to shake the guilty feeling she had over Lyna's death and Tamlen's disappearance. Their loss had been…difficult for her. She had never been good at losing friends. She had even cried when she had killed Malak, even though she could barely remember him from her previous life.

When she asked Duncan where they were going, he had said they were headed to a place in the north, a town called Highever, before going south to meet up with the king's army. Upon further questioning, he told her that he had heard of another promising recruit living in the castle. She gave him a suspicious glance, but otherwise said nothing. They would go to Highever to see this potential recruit.

* * *

 

Highever was one of the largest cities in Ferelden, or so Duncan had told her. Of course, nothing could compare with the cities Revan had seen in her life, but for a planet with few occupants, Highever was quite large. And surprisingly clean, given the lack of indoor plumbing. Obviously whoever had designed the city had been fed up with the overpowering stench of waste.

The castle itself was nestled on a rocky hill with three shear faces. It was not constructed for beauty, but for defense, and its austere appearance reflected that fact. However, the town was not being attacked or otherwise threatened, so patrols were light, and the guards at the door seemed relaxed. They let them in to the castle with barely a word said. It was as if the supposed Blight was some distant happenstance.

A middle-aged steward with thinning brown hair greeted them as they entered the stone keep. He was very sharp, but very formal.

"Hello, ser and sera, to Castle Highever. May I inquire what your business here is?"

Duncan put on his charming face. "Actually, I have come to speak with the Teyrn. I am a Grey Warden."

At this, the man perked up. "A Grey Warden, you say? Please, follow me, ser and sera!"

Revan exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Duncan, but they followed the steward willingly.

"He will probably be in his study," the steward informed them without looking back, "finishing up the last-minute details."

"Details for what?" Revan boldly asked.

The steward was obviously used to belligerent women. "The Teyrn has been called to Ostagar by the king. Most noble houses have."

"Hmm," Revan responded.

The castle was, if nothing else, well-lit. It had plenty of windows and open courtyards and roaring fireplaces, so there was always an abundance of light. They passed a great hall along their way to his study, as well as the kitchens and library. The place was teeming with people and soldiers, all scrambling to prepare for their departure. Revan felt awkward taking these peoples' precious time away for something so seemingly unimportant. However, she knew from experience that Grey Wardens could be the difference between life and death when facing the darkspawn.

The steward stopped at a closed oak door and knocked softly. They heard a muffled "Come in!" The steward opened the door and proceeded to apologize for the interruption, but stated that there was a Grey Warden wanting to see him.

Duncan strode forward and held out his hand. "Greetings, Teyrn Cousland. I am Duncan, and this Dragonheart, my newest recruit."

The Teyrn was a grey-haired but handsome man who had aged impeccably well. He had laugh lines around his eyes and had the general appearance of a good, just ruler with too many problems. He stood slightly from his seat behind the desk and took Duncan's hand warmly.

"It is an honor to have a Grey Warden visit. Though, I must apologize for this mess and confusion. We only received the summons to Ostagar a few days ago."

Revan liked the man already. Duncan smiled at his geniality. "It is no problem, ser. Actually, we came here because I had heard there were several promising warriors living here, and, as you know, we need all the recruits we can get."

"Ah, you mean Ser Gilmore?" the Teyrn suggested. "He is an excellent warrior and a good man. I'm sure he would make an excellent Warden."

"I have no doubt," Duncan said doubtfully.

"Right, where are my manners? I will have Jonathan prepare your rooms. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable."

The Teyrn gestured to his steward, who gave him a curt nod and left to prepare the rooms. She and Duncan crossed their arms and bowed respectfully, and then left. Once they were out of earshot, Revan began interrogating the Grey Warden.

"Why do I have the feeling we aren't here for Ser Gilmore?" she asked casually.

"Because we aren't," Duncan said honestly. "I'm more interested in the Teyrn's daughter."

"His daughter? She's not some frilly noblewoman?"

"No. She was trained by the men of the castle to be a warrior from a very young age. My reports indicate that she has a head for command," Duncan informed her.

Revan shrugged. "So, what now?"

"I need more information on her character. You, however, are free to do as you wish."

"One more question: how did you know about his daughter?"

Duncan remained silent for a moment, and then said, "Sometimes we get…dreams. Premonitions, if you want. Not all Wardens have them, but they often are accurate. I sometimes get premonitions about possible candidates."

All these premonitions seemed to Revan like traces of the Force. But she held herself in check. If she said anything, they would look at her like she was crazy. "Did you have a premonition about me?"

Duncan smiled, "Yes, actually, I did."

Revan smiled back, bowed, and then took her leave. He looked after her as she left, and then he continued on his quest for knowledge. Revan, too, was seeking knowledge, but of a different kind. Moments later, she was in the library, her nose stuffed in a history book. A stack of more old books was piled next to her. The library was not huge, but neither was it pitifully small. A roaring hearth provided all the light needed to read by. Except for one old scholar who was trying to teach two young squires some history, the library was empty. The books Revan had chosen were thick, musty old tomes filled with prose and postulating. Luckily, all those years of reading history texts at the Jedi Academy allowed her to consume the books at a faster pace than most scholars. Soon, she was completely brushed up on Ferelden history for the last thousand or so years. Finished in the library, Revan decided to wander Castle Cousland for a bit.

The servants and soldiers paid her no mind as she wandered. Soon, drawn by a cacophony of barking and banging and screaming, Revan found herself in the kitchens. The cook was an elderly lady with a bit of a temper, who was screaming at everyone and everything. Two elf servants cowered in front of her as she screeched about a dog in the larder. Revan, leaning against the doorframe, found the situation quite comic. Until _she_ walked in.

A young, gorgeous girl about Lyna's age strolled leisurely into the room, her eyes expertly scanning the room as a general would scan a battlefield. She was obviously the Teyrn's daughter: she had his bearing and his bone structure. However, her eyes were what Revan noticed first. They were dark brown, almost black, but what was really startling was their intensity. Revan had met few people in the galaxy with eyes like hers, and those people didn't need the Force to persuade others to do their bidding. Her eyes said everything without her saying a word. However, Revan had seen the secret look in her eyes more times than she cared to remember. It was a hungry look, like the look that one hunter had given her on Tatooine, or the scum in the cantinas gave the dancers. If she wanted, she could look at a man in a certain way, and he would be in her bed in less than five minutes. But the girl was a noble, and she held her hunger back with practiced ease. She was a perfect specimen of nobility, with a perfect face and white, creamy skin. Her fiery red hair was bound back in a braid, as if ready to be gathered in a helm on a moment's notice. Though she wasn't as tall as Revan, she was lean and fit, and her leather armor suited her well. Revan could see why Duncan thought she'd be a promising recruit.

Behind her was a large, muscular man with orange hair and a Cousland shield strapped to his back. Revan assumed he was Ser Gilmore. He seemed awkward, as if he hadn't quite grown into his height and bulk yet. The Cousland strode into the room and, upon seeing the cook freaking out, broke out into a grin.

The cook gathered herself. She turned to the elves. "Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!"

The female servant trembled, "But mistress, it won't let us near!"

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both you useless elves, I swear it!" she screeched.

Ser Gilmore stepped forward. "Err…calm down, good woman. We've come to help—"

The cook turned on them. "You! And you!" she stared angrily at them. "Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! He should be put down!"

The expression on the girl's face was both amused and irritated. It was obvious she wanted to retort back something utterly inappropriate, but years of trained held her tongue. Instead, she replied, "I'm sorry, Nan. I'll try to control him better."

The cook, Nan, sighed. "Just…just get him gone. I have enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers."

A smile lit itself upon her face, and she and Ser Gilmore entered the larder. Revan waited, wanting to see what would happen next. There was much barking, followed by the faint sound of steel hitting flesh. However, Nan was too busy barking orders to the poor, tormented servants to notice. She was disgusted by the way elves were treated, but she was painfully aware that she was in no position to help them. Plus, from what Duncan had told her about city elves, these two were probably treated better than most.

Ser Gilmore emerged from the pantry, followed by the girl and a huge, almost monstrous dog that was leaping and bounding around her. Revan saw bits of blood drying on his coat. Finally the girl noticed her presence. She seemed slightly perturbed at Revan's laxness, but she approached Revan anyway.

"I don't believe we've met before." Her voice rose and fell with a certain musical quality that Revan's ears followed with delight.

"No, we haven't," Revan responded glibly. The girl smiled broadly, a genuine smile, and not the fake smile nobility put on for show.

The girl appraised Revan for a moment, sizing her up, and then decided she liked Revan. "I am Rose Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland. And you are…?"

"Some call me Dragonheart," Revan said, taking the hand Rose offered her.

"You're Dragonheart?" the girl asked incredulously.

"Yes," Revan tilted her head in suspicion. "Why?"

"You are all the soldiers can talk about. 'Did you hear about that woman Dalish?' 'I heard she was a Witch of the Wilds.' 'Well, I heard she was seven feet tall and consumes her enemies with fireballs from her eyes and lightning bolts from her arse.' That kind of thing," Rose did her best imitation of the soldiers, and then shrugged. "Some of them have even bet whether they could…well, you know what soldiers think."

"Yes, that I do," Revan said wistfully. She was surprised how friendly this girl of noble birth was to her. She was not at all what Revan had been expecting.

"Well, with the preparations for Ostagar, I'm sure no one gave you a proper tour, did they?" she asked politely. "Come, I'll show you around, if you don't mind having to stop and talk to my brother."

"Why would I mind?" Revan responded with a small smile. With a broad grin, Rose glided out of the room and back into the main castle.

"Pardon me asking, but why do we need to speak with your brother?" Revan inquired as they neared one of the many mess halls.

"He's going with my father to Ostagar, but my father is going to leave with the Arl tomorrow because of some confusion. So, I have to tell him to leave tonight," Rose said absently, her dog padding along beside her. "You know, it seems to me like a complete waste of time to train your daughter to fight only to send her on trivial errands."

Revan chuckled at this. "So, who is this Arl?"

"Oh, Arl Rendon Howe," she answered. "He is one of my father's closest friends. I personally think he's a snake."

"Is that so?" Revan said, only mildly interested.

"Yes, indeed," Rose replied distractedly. "Oh Maker, Lady Landra is here."

Revan perked up. "Who?"

"Bann Loren's wife," the noble informed her. "She was here for my mother's spring salon, at which she proceeded to get drunk and tried to convince me to marry her son."

She looked up the cobblestone ramp to where two older ladies were chatting away with a tall, barrel-chested young man standing close by and a small blonde handmaiden waiting respectfully near one of the ladies. All were dressed in finery, in contrast to Rose's armor and Revan's dark traveling clothes. The man, whom Revan assumed was the Bann's son, was actually quite handsome.

"Well, he doesn't look _that_ bad," she commented.

Rose grinned, the hungry glint flashing in her dark eyes. "No, not bad at all. Strange, I didn't seem to notice last time."

Rose continued up the ramp, and Revan, seeing no alternative at the moment, followed her awkwardly.

A polite, charming smile found its way onto Rose's face, the mask of noble grace hiding her obvious desire to go about her duties. However, she did seem a tad interested in the young man. One of the ladies, the handmaiden, and the man looked up at their arrival. The shorter of the two, the one who still hadn't noticed their approach, was a gray-haired woman that had still retained her beauty even into her golden years. With a fierce proudness in her bearing and dark eyes, it was apparent that she was Rose's mother. The other, presumably Lady Landra, was slender and pretty, but she had not aged half as well as the Teyrna. The Teyrna had been deep in conversation with the other, older woman when they approached. Rose patiently waited for her mother to notice her arrival.

The Teyrna swiveled her head to get a good look at her daughter. "Ah, here is my lovely daughter. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound that the situation in the kitchens has been taken care of?"

"Yes, mother," Rose put on her most charming smile. "And Nan will be continuing her service here as our most esteemed cook."

"And who is this?" the Teyrna inquired, ignoring Rose's veiled sarcasm as she appraised Revan.

"Ah, yes. This is Dragonheart. She is travelling with the Grey Warden that just arrived," Rose politely supplied.

The group seemed mildly surprised by both her identity and the news of a Grey Warden in the castle.

The Teyrna broke the awkward silence quickly. "Rose, dear, you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren's wife?"

Lady Landra regained her composure. "I believe we last met at your mother's spring salon."

"Of course. It is good to see you, milady," Rose curtsied politely, though Revan could tell she was not at all thrilled about the purportedly annoying woman being there. Revan bowed stiffly before stepping back behind Rose. She knew she had no place in this circle of nobility. And they knew she had no place there, too.

"You are too kind," Lady Landra continued. "If I remember right, I spent half the salon trying to convince you to marry my son."

"And making a very poor case for it, I might add," the strapping lad, Dairren, added. He had a cultured voice, which, from what Revan had thus far noticed, was common for nobles. Revan noticed he carried a rapier strapped to his belt, carefully arranged so that only those looking for it would have noticed.

"My son, Dairren. He's not married, either," Lady Landra said with little subtlety.

"Don't listen to her," Dairren said playfully. "It is good to see you again, milady. You are looking as beautiful as ever. And it is wonderful to meet you as well, Dragonheart. Stories of you have spread quickly." Revan bowed her head in acknowledgement of the comment as Rose smiled seductively.

Lady Landra pursed her lips at the last part. Obviously, the Dalish were still a sensitive topic. "And this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona." The shy, blonde maiden was staying as silent as Revan, but curtsied submissively at the introduction. "Do say something, girl!" Lady Landra demanded.

"It is a great pleasure, mistresses," she raised her eyes slightly, glancing timidly at Revan. To Rose, she added, "You are as pretty as your mother describes, Lady Rose."

"And she says this after seeing you whacking stuffed men in the courtyard, sweating like a mule," the Teyrna commented.

Revan barely stifled a guffaw as Rose blushed slightly.

"Your daughter's prowess with the blade is most impressive," Dairren added smoothly, trying to put Rose at ease.

"I was quite the battle maiden myself, in my day," the Teyrna mentioned, "but I think it was the softer arts that helped me land a husband."

Rose smiled pleasantly at her before facing Dairren again. "We should catch up. Perhaps we should speak alone sometime, Dairren?"

He smiled charmingly, "I would like that, my lady."

Landra suppressed a yawn and turned to the Teyrna. "I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear. Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

"I suppose we'll retire to the study for now," Dairren informed her, but Revan could tell the comment was not entirely intended for his mother's benefit.

"Good evening, your Ladyship. Rose; Dragonheart," Lady Landra said the last awkwardly, not quite sure what Revan's position was. Revan wasn't so sure, either.

As the Bann's wife and son turned and left, the Teyrna gave Rose a reproachable look. "Darling…"

"What?" Rose asked innocently. Revan could tell she was itching to leave. By the Teyrna's softening face, Revan could see she could tell too.

"Very well, go. Just…do be careful, darling," the Teyrna said. Rose bounded off after Dairren, leaving Revan alone with the older woman.

"Ah, youth," the Teyrna shook her head. "Uncontrollable, unstoppable, and yet so very predictable sometimes."

Revan smiled. "You have a wonderful daughter, Teyrna."

"Please, it's Eleanor," she waved the rules of society, just as Rose had done. "And I'm not sure how 'wonderful' she is when she goes around sleeping with every good-looking buffoon who passes through Highever." Revan raised an eyebrow at this startling comment. "Oh, it's not like you weren't thinking of it," the Teyrna responded. "But look at me; I'm becoming worse than Rose! Where are my manners?"

The Teyrna took a seat in one of the nearby benches and gestured for Revan to sit across from her. "I apologize again. Something about talking to other noble ladies drives me a tad crazy. Perhaps it's their constant insipidness. Or the fact that the only thing they seem capable of talking about is their families and the latest fashions. So, tell me: is it true that you are actually a…Dalish?"

"Yes," Revan smiled sadly at the thought of her friends. "I was taken in by the clan a few months ago."

"That must be fascinating!" Eleanor replied. "Most of the other nobles think the Dalish are just a bunch of crazy vagabonds that aren't much better than a pack of wolves. I'm glad that someone is finally trying to understand them better.

"And you are also to become a Grey Warden? That, my dear, is absolutely fascinating! A Grey Warden is a thing to be proud of, to be sure. Oh, I remember the days when Maric was king and Grey Wardens weren't so loved. But that was a long time ago, and a new age has begun, where Ferelden is a land of peace. Except for this damned-awful threat of a Blight, of course. I still think it was a wise choice to train Rose to fight, even if most of the other nobles disagree with us making our daughter into a proud warrior. You know, I was a battle maiden myself, in the days of my youth. But back then, it was almost a necessity. But I've mentioned this before, haven't I? Oh dear, here I am droning again!"

"Teyr-Eleanor," Revan caught herself, "why are you even talking to me? I am not nobility, nor am I a person of importance. I can't help but be…" she searched for the proper word.

"Confused?" Eleanor supplied. "I know. I assume that Rose also was forward, like me?"

"Yes," Revan said slowly, puzzled.

The Teyrna smiled warmly. "We have a gift in my family. We can tell the character of a person upon meeting them. You, dear, have an excellent character, much like my husband Bryce. You are good, despite seeming to have suffered much in your past. And you don't judge others. That is why we treat you like a real person, not like a noble or servant."

An awkward silence ensued. Finally, Revan broke it and asked, "Excuse my curiosity, Eleanor, but why have you not married Rose off already? She would make a lovely bride, no?"

The Teyrna gave her a sly grin. "Bryce and I believe that a marriage should be one of love, not political advantage. We are letting our children have a freedom that so few seem to enjoy these days. Which is also why we let Rose learn to fight."

"And sleep with whomever she wants?" Revan asked.

"That, too."

The Teyrna continued talking for a while. Revan patiently listened to the woman for some time, gleaning what she could from this woman's amiable chatter. Given how little she knew of any of Ferelden's customs, she was happy when Eleanor began describing life in the court. Apparently Cailan, the current king of Ferelden, was a pleasant, if idealistic, young man who had inherited his father's charm and a bit of his folly. He had married the daughter of one of his father's closest advisors, Teyrn Loghain, who still managed and controlled Ferelden's army. At the mention of Duncan, Eleanor went off on a long spiel about the strange episode when the Wardens came to Ferelden to prevent the Blight and took King Maric with them. Apparently, Duncan had been one of those Wardens.

During this conversation, Teyrn Bryce came and stood, waiting for his wife to notice his presence.

"Darling, I'm afraid the time has come for us to see off Fergus," he announced when she looked up.

Eleanor sighed. "I've never been one for good-byes. You know that, dear."

"Yes, but we must," his smiled encouragingly. She sighed again, but stood anyway, bidding Revan farewell. She smiled sadly in return, and headed back to the library.

She was summoned to the banquet table when dinner was ready, but the rest of the family was so busy sending Fergus and the rest of the soldiers off that Revan saw very little of them. Duncan told her that he still had business to attend to, so just to entertain herself as she wished. The steward had rooms prepared for them when she wished to retire. So, of course, Revan decided to forego sleep and continue in her perusing of the library. Her Jedi training allowed her to go for days without sleep, as long as she could meditate. And there was no telling when she would next get the chance to read.

Hours later, through pages and pages of dense text, Revan detected noise in the corridors outside. She dismissed it, until the door of the library was kicked down by armored soldiers and the old scholar run through in front of her eyes. With a cry of outrage, Revan exploded with power, and arcs of blue lightning shot through the air from her outstretched hand and into the enemy soldiers. The air crackled, giving off the acrid smell of ozone as it mixed with the metallic scent of blood and singed hair. The soldiers collapsed to the ground and spasmed violently as the electricity overloaded their nervous system. Revan broke the connection, which left her feeling drained. The soldiers trembled for a few more seconds before their bodies lay still and smoking. She stared in shock for a minute before shakily getting to her feet. Revan was no stranger to killing, but to just cut down an innocent like they had…

She stood over the small group of soldiers, scanning them and judging their armor and weapons. They were wearing a mix of iron chainmail and leather, with iron and steel swords. A few of them bore shields, and a couple of shields had linen crests stretched across their surface. Revan didn't recognize it, but tore one off and stuffed it in her shirt. Perhaps, if she survived this night, she could use it to find out who had ordered this surprise attack.

Revan drew her swords and stepped cautiously into the castle's corridors. She heard distant screams as more people were brutally slaughtered in their sleep. Acutely aware of their distress, she knew that the best chance of surviving was if they secured the castle gates before dispatching of the other soldiers. If she didn't, there would just be endless waves of soldiers to defeat.

She headed downstairs, through burning timbers and piled rubble, dispatching patrols of enemies as they appeared. The castle seemed to be overrun with soldiers. She tried to spare as many of their lives as possible by slashing at their arms and legs, but time was of the essence. She couldn't afford to be pretty. Soon, her nice shirt was soaked through with blood. She was half tempted to tear it off, but resisted the urge. Though, it could serve as a fine distraction…

The doors to the great hall were locked, but she could still hear the sounds of fighting inside. With one powerful kick, the door swung open to reveal Duncan, Teyrn Cousland, and Ser Gilmore fighting with a handful of soldiers against waves of enemy soldiers. Revan rushed to join the fray, fighting ferociously enough to drive some of the soldiers back. Her blades twirled in a deadly dance that was constantly tearing screams of agony from their victims. And yet, for every soldier she killed, another seemed to take his place. She barred her teeth and fought harder, forcing more and more back until she stood at the gates. Duncan was fighting next to her. Focusing all her strength and energy on the door, she pulled it shut with her mind, the Force as her weapon. The bar dropped down, giving them a moment to breathe.

"I'm glad to see you're still alive, Dragonheart," Duncan said, a little relieved.

Revan smiled back, "And I you."

They turned around to see Ser Gilmore kneeling next to the Teyrn, who was groaning and clutching his side. His shirt was stained red, but who the blood belonged to was debatable. She and Duncan rushed to his side.

"I need…to find my wife…and daughter," Teyrn Bryce said through clutched teeth.

"I don't think you're in any condition to move, milord," the knight said.

"I need to find them," he repeated stubbornly, "and then…find Howe. He will pay…for his…treachery."

"We will help you," Duncan said kindly, offering his hand to the man. The Teyrn took it, and Duncan gently pulled him up. Revan could tell that the man was in no condition to fight, and she herself was in no condition to heal him. She had barely enough energy left to stand.

"Let me see what I can do," she offered anyway. Teyrn Bryce looked at her, confused, but Revan ignored the startled looks as she knelt down and focused her power, knitting the flesh as much she could with what little power she had left. The large gash healed until it was barely bleeding, but he was still too weak and wounded to fight properly. The men seemed both startled and impressed that she was a mage, as she could tell from their expressions.

Revan fell back in exhaustion, staring at the ceiling as feeling returned to her hands and her heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm. Duncan moved so he was kneeling over her.

"We need to move," he told her.

"I know," Revan responded as she reluctantly took the hand he proffered.

"Ser Gilmore, you are to stay here with the men and guard the gates as long as you can," the Teyrn instructed him.

"But—"

"That's an order!" he commanded before spinning on his heels and heading out the other side of the hall, towards the kitchens. She and Duncan followed him out. And then they were ambushed. The men had been waiting for someone to come out of the door. Immediately they pounced upon the Teyrn, giving him barely enough time to draw his sword again. One slashed him solidly in the stomach, and he collapsed. Revan positioned herself skillfully in front of the Teyrn in a defensive position. Soon, between her and Duncan, they dispatched the soldiers. The Teyrn was in critical condition as Revan leaned down and inspected the wound. If he didn't get aid soon, he would parish from it. And she didn't have the strength to do it. He and Duncan knew it, too.

"Just get me to the servant's exit in the larder," the Teyrn said. "And then find my wife and daughter."

Duncan nodded in silent assent. They all knew what his fate would be.

She grabbed one of the Teyrn's arms as Duncan grabbed the other and together dragged him to the kitchens, being as gentle as they could. The cook and her servants were already dead, their bodies lying prostrated on the floor. It was a gruesome scene, one they tried their best to ignore. They kicked open the door to the larder and helped the Teyrn inside. He wasn't doing well.

"Go; find them," he pleaded. "I'll be okay by myself."

She exchanged a knowing look with Duncan, but they obliged his wish. They closed the door in the vain hope that the soldiers wouldn't find the secret exit. Duncan headed out of the kitchens and began heading down the hall in search of enemies to kill. Revan was right behind him. They moved through the halls, killing any enemy soldiers they encountered, leaving them lying lifeless in pools of their own blood. After a while, Revan heard the faint sound of barking. She paused, straining her ears as Duncan stopped and spun around, wondering what was causing her to stop. The barking was coming from the kitchens.

"I think someone found him," Revan informed Duncan. He spun without a word and ran toward the kitchens, but instead of strangled screams they heard voices talking. One sounded like Eleanor. Duncan gestured to Revan to guard the door, then entered himself. As soon as he left, Revan breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was less of a chance of them dying now. She knew from experience that being split up was extremely dangerous, because no one ever stayed in one spot and waited to be found.

Revan heard Rose as she thanked Duncan for assisting her father. Duncan then responded with some qualifying statement that Revan couldn't make out because of the sound of wood splintering, which was followed immediately by a loud crunch as the castle's gates fell.

Revan peeked around the doorframe, getting the attention of the others. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but they just broke through the gates. Whatever you are planning to do, it needs to be done soon."

The Couslands all exchanged worried glances as Revan returned to her position as guard. The soldiers would find them. It was only a matter of time, now. She crouched, prepared to strike, and listened as the Teyrn told Duncan to take his wife and daughter to safety. But Duncan demanded a price.

"Wait, wait!" Revan heard Rose cry. "Me, a Grey Warden? But what about—"

"We came for you, not Ser Gilmore," Duncan told them honestly. Silence followed.

After a pause, the Teyrn answered. "If that is what it takes, then I accept. Just…get them out of here."

"I will not leave you," Rose protested.

"Nor will I," Eleanor responded.

"Please," the Teyrn pleaded. "Accept his offer, Pup. Get out with your lives. Then, you can avenge me and kill Howe."

"No!" Rose responded hotly. "Father..."

Revan spun around and entered the larder, much to the surprise of everyone. "Look, in five minutes we're _all_ going to be dead. Whatever you are going to do, decide. _Now_."

Rose bowed her head. "I am so sorry, father."

"Please, go, Pup," he assured her.

She turned and looked Duncan square in the face. "If you will take me and my mother to safety, I will become a Grey Warden."

Duncan nodded in solemn assent, but Eleanor looked uncomfortable.

"Go, dear. I will only slow you down. I'll stay here and shoot every bastard that comes through that door," Eleanor told her, tears glistening in her eyes as she cradled the Teyrn's head in her lap.

Rose grasped her mother's hand. "I am _so_ sorry, mother, father. I love you both, _so_ much."

"We love you too, dear. Go, become a Grey Warden. Live your life," Eleanor exchanged one final glance with her daughter before pulling out her bow and knocking an arrow. Revan strode in and, taking the stunned Rose by the shoulders, led her into the dank, dark, narrow tunnel of the servant's exit, followed by her hound.

Revan guided Rose, still petrified by the shock of losing her parents, through the pitch blackness of the tunnels, with only one of Revan's magic balls of floating light to guide them. They were in the tunnels for what seemed like hours; finally, when the mage light was at its dimmest, they came to an old, wooden door. Duncan leaned his shoulder into the panels and pushed and, with a cacophony of squeals from the rusted hinges, the door opened to reveal the moonlit plains just outside of Highever. Far in the distance, the moon illuminated the long, winding road that led to their fate: Ostagar.


	6. Act VI

Act VI: The Imperial Highway

They had set a decent pace after fleeing Highever; Duncan estimated that it would be roughly two more days of walking before they reached the Imperial Highway at Lothering, the intersection of the southern routes, and another two or three days to get from Lothering to Ostagar. Rose, meanwhile, had become more withdrawn and morose. Her dog, a pure-blood Mabari, was constantly whining as he worried about his master. Revan, too, had started to worry about her after the few days of traveling with the girl. Duncan had tried to help by telling them the tales of his youth, but Rose had shown only a margin of interest.

That night, after hunting for rabbits with her pitiful magic, Revan returned to camp to find Rose staring into the fire with tears streaming down her face. The young girl tried to wipe them away at her approach, perhaps to look strong, but it was too late. Revan set the rabbits down on a log and took a seat next to Rose, wearing an expression of friendly concern. She took Rose's hand and squeezed it reassuringly as she silently told her that everything was going to be okay.

"It's not your fault, you know," Revan said after a minute of silence.

"I know," Rose whispered quietly, as if trying to choke back tears.

"No, look at me," Revan turned Rose to look her in the face. Revan grasped her shoulders. "It is not your fault. I know you think it is, _but_ _this is not your fault_."

Eyes red, mouth upturned in a grimace of pain as she bit back the hot tears of grief, Rose tried to nod in understanding, but the tears began to flow unbidden. Rose flung her arms around the Jedi, sobbing heavily into her shoulder. Revan held her comfortingly, soothing her. Revan hadn't known her parents, but she did know grief. After a minute, Revan began singing a tune softly, first to herself, but then to Rose. Her mouth started forming Dalish words, and soon she was singing the Dalish song to the honored dead, the same ballad the clan had sung at Lyna's wake. Rose's sobs grew weaker and farther between, and soon she had stopped sobbing altogether. She took in a few ragged, shaky breaths as she recovered. Finally, she pulled away.

"Sorry," Rose apologized as she wiped the tears away from her eyes.

"Don't apologize," Revan told her, standing up. "That is what friends are for, yes?"

"Friends." Rose repeated the word as if she had never used it before.

"Yes, friends. At least, that was what I was assuming we were," Revan smiled sadly at the girl as she walked to get the rabbits.

Rose smiled sadly back. "Yeah, I think we are friends. I've just…I've never actually had a friend before besides Fuzzywuggins," she patted the Mabari lying at her feet affectionately.

Revan turned back around, studiously ignoring the comment about the ferocious war hound. "You've never had friends before?"

"No," Rose shook her head and wiped her eyes again. "As the Teyrn's daughter, the only friends I was allowed to have were nobles, and I never really liked any of them."

"Not even Ser Gilmore?" Revan asked.

"He was okay," Rose paused. "No, that's not right. Ser Gilmore was a good, kind boy, but he never understood me, and I him. We were never that close."

Revan shot her a smile again, but this smile was brighter.

The next few days were spent in amiable chatter. Revan began pontificating to both Rose and Duncan about life in the Jedi Order, but she left out the key bits, such as the fact that the Jedi temple on Coruscant was a few thousand light-years away from Thedas, and the fact that Revan had visited Thedas before. She didn't think they needed to know all of her unpleasant past; not yet, at least. She would tell them eventually, but not yet. Meanwhile, Duncan shared tales of ancient Blights from a perspective that only a Warden can give. These seemed to intrigue Rose, and she began to be more responsive, asking questions and showing interest.

By the time they reached Ostagar, Rose was in better spirits. She was still crushed by her parents' death, but Revan and Duncan refused to allow her to slip back into depression. After talking with her, Revan found that Rose was much wiser than her years suggested. She had little interest in revenge, and was more distraught by the reasons behind Howe's betrayal than the betrayal itself. Revan admired her for knowing the dangers of seeking revenge.

Revan found that she had become quite close to the girl, much as she and Juhani had been. However, unlike Juhani, Rose didn't blame Revan for the horrible things that had happened to her. In fact, Rose looked up to Revan because of the support the Jedi had shown her. Of course, hilarious stories involving HK-47 helped a lot, too. And Revan realized that she was becoming accustomed to Rose's presence. The girl had a certain attitude that made it seem like she was always interested, even when Revan wasn't speaking. Often times, the two just sat in silence in front of the fire, simply enjoying the company of someone who didn't expect anything but understanding in return. Fuzzywuggins had even stopped looking up menacingly at Revan's approach and had let her give him a belly rub, which was a considerable improvement given the fact that animals didn't particularly like Revan.

Ostagar was a cold place. Not just the weather; the ruins felt old and lifeless, as well as a tad foreboding. There was also a sense of restlessness around the place as they approached the army encampment from the north. Tension prevailed here. It was as if the gray ruins were holding their breath in wait for the big moment, and thus the place had a hushed air to it. Revan immediately got a bad feeling in her chest about this place, much like she had had the first time she visited Malachor V. It felt _wrong_. She said as much to Rose and Duncan, but they merely shrugged.

As they crossed the bridge into the ruins, a young, tall man with long, blonde locks decked in golden plate armor approached from the camp. A broad smile spread across his handsome face at the sight of Duncan. The guards stood up straighter at his approach and saluted as he passed, but he ignored them as if it were a common occurrence.

"A royal welcome for the glorious Duncan and his new recruits!" the young man declared jovially as he approached. "I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun, Duncan!"

"Not if I can help it, your Majesty," Duncan bowed respectfully.

The king smiled. "Ah! Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!

"Ah, but I digress. These two must be the new recruits you found?" the king, Cailan, asked. Revan admitted that the man had certain charm to him, but he was obviously naïve and inexperienced. He had no clue of the horrors of the battlefield.

"Yes. May I introduce Dragonheart, of the Dalish," Duncan gestured to Revan. Revan, bowed, crossing her arms over her chest in respect. "And—"

"Ah, wait, I recognize you!" King Cailan looked closely at Rose. "You're Bryce's youngest, right? I don't believe we've actually met. Your brother is here already, but is unfortunately out scouting in the Korcari Wilds. How are your parents? We haven't received word yet from your father and his troops."

Rose looked down uncomfortably, but forced herself to meet the king's gaze. "It is an honor to meet you, your majesty, but I fear it is not under the most pleasant of circumstances."

"What do you mean?" Cailan asked, obviously puzzled.

"My…Our castle was attacked by Arl Rendon Howe's men about a week ago. My parents were killed by his men, and they continue to hold the castle."

Cailan grew furious, but contained his rage with the skill that only those with years of practice can. "I can…scarcely believe this treachery! How could he think he could get away with something like that? Well, when we are done here, I will make sure to deploy my forces to Highever and bring Howe to justice! You have my word! Though, I am sorry you cannot tell your brother of these…events."

"I am not eager to tell him, your Majesty," Rose replied wearily.

"No, I can imagine not," he agreed. "I apologize, but I can do no more at the time being. Meanwhile, I suggest venting your anger on the darkspawn.

"Well, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies," Cailan rolled his eyes.

"Your uncle sends his greetings," Duncan interjected before the king left, "and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

"Oh, Eamon just wants in on the glory," Cailan dismissed the suggestion. "And besides, we've already won three battles against the beasts, and tomorrow should be no different. I'm beginning to doubt this is a real Blight. We've seen plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, there has been no sign of an Archdemon."

"Do not be so eager to meet an Archdemon, your Majesty," Revan interjected gravely. "Meeting one is an unpleasant experience that is…difficult to forget."

Cailan seemed taken aback by her answer, but quickly recovered. "Ah, well, I best get back to my tent before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

The three of them bowed as King Cailan turned and left with a smug expression on his face. Duncan gestured for them to follow him into the ruins.

"I didn't realize things were going so well," Rose said skeptically as they walked.

"The king…exaggerates our success," Duncan commented. "I have suggested that we request more troops, but Teyrn Loghain is adamant that this is not a serious enough threat."

"The king seems to regard Grey Wardens highly. Why not recommend it more strongly?" Rose continued.

Duncan paused, thinking. "Though he may regard us highly, he regards the Teyrn more so. He will not order more troops until Loghain tells him to. And I fear by then it may be too late."

"So you think there is an Archdemon behind this?" Rose inquired.

"There _is_ an Archdemon behind this. That is a fact," Revan answered. "The question is when he will reveal himself."

Duncan looked at her curiously, but he said nothing. Rose stared critically. "How do you know that?"

"Just take my word for it," Revan responded. "So, I am assuming there are other Wardens here?"

Duncan looked across the ruins. "Yes…they are here, as are the other two recruits I found, Daveth and Ser Jory. They should be waiting in the encampment."

They came to a large, old stone bridge that connected part of the extensive ruins to the other. Across the bridge, Revan could make out the colorful fabric of tents and banners of the various troops and leaders that composed the army. The view of the surrounding area, including the gorge below, was breathtaking.

Duncan stopped here to address them. "I have some…business to attend to. When you are ready, find Alistair. He will serve as your guide. Then you can meet me at the Grey Warden's tents, where I will tell you what you need to do to prepare for the ritual. And, if you don't mind, your Mabari can accompany me."

"Ritual? To become a Grey Warden?" Revan complained. "Great. And here I thought I was done with all the 'secret ritual' crap."

Duncan smiled. "Unfortunately, you will have to go through one more ritual."

"So what is this ritual?" Rose asked innocently.

"We call it the Joining, but more I cannot say," Duncan said cautiously.

Rose looked displeased by this, but she didn't protest. Duncan dipped his head and left, Fuzzywuggins padding after him, leaving the two girls alone.

She turned to Revan. "So…"

"Shall we?" Revan gestured to the bridge with an open palm.

With a sigh, Rose assented. At the other end, Revan left the girl to her own devices and began exploring the camps. Somehow, she meandered into the Grey Warden's camp. A few men were gathered around a fire, talking amongst themselves like an exclusive club. One was sharpening his blade on a whetstone, while another was polishing his plate armor. The other was oiling a bow. They all looked up at her approach, pausing in their tasks at the interruption.

"Yes, princess? Is there something we can help you with?" the one polishing the armor asked. "Do you need directions to the kitchens?"

Revan smiled as broadly and as sweetly as she could. "No, I just need to know where the _real_ warriors are. I was told they were here, but it seems I was misled."

"And why would a pretty lady like yourself be looking for the warriors' camp, eh?" the one sharpening his blade asked curiously.

"Oh, I'm supposed to show them how to fight _civilly_ , with a sword," Revan swiftly pulled out her dragon bone sword and twirled it around, inviting the men to challenge her. The men whistled in appreciation at her boldness.

"All right," the blade sharpener stood up. "If a fight is what you want…But with fists, not swords. A warrior's true prowess is measured in how well he—or she—can defend himself with any weapon."

Revan sheathed her sword in acknowledgement and, smiling, rolled up her sleeves. As a Jedi, she had been trained in all sorts of combat, including unarmed. And, though she had never been the best with her fists —that honor had gone to Malak—she could still hold her own, especially against someone who hadn't been trained as a Jedi.

The man, a lanky, wiry-muscled warrior with dark brown hair and calculating, hazel eyes, unstrapped his gauntlets and let them fall to the ground. They moved in closer, assuming a defensive posture and began circling each other, looking for any sign of weakness while analyzing the opponent. The man was skilled, that much she could tell by his stance. They continued to circle, each waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, sick of waiting, Revan feinted at his stomach. The man moved his torso away from her blow, allowing Revan to try and kick his legs from under him. However, he recognized her moves and nimbly dodged aside. He was quick for his size. He then tried to get a blow in at her head and torso, but Revan was able to avoid both. This would not be an easy battle. This cycle of feinting and dodging continued for several minutes until the man, realizing that Revan could anticipate his blows, lunged in with an obvious attack. Revan dodged, but he swung quickly at her exposed side. She blocked, but the force of the blow made her stagger backwards. He took the opportunity to land a heavy, hard blow on her jaw, knocking her to the ground with a thump. Revan caught herself on her arms, and, stunned, spit out a clot of blood.

The man, victory glittering in his eyes, offered her a hand as a gesture of respect. With a wary glance, Revan accepted the offer, and he pulled her to her feet. The rest of the men were silent. She then noticed that another man had joined the others and was watching her with interest. He was a bear of a man, with a long, bushy beard and biceps the size of Revan's thighs. His pale eyes shown with keen intelligence. The rest of the men noticed him just after she did, jumping in surprise. He ignored them and, lifting one of his massive arms, gave her a thumbs up and said with a deep, clear voice, "Approval." And then he walked off without another word. The rest of the Wardens exchanged glances.

"The only other person he's done that to," one the men—the one that had been oiling his bow—commented, "was Alistair."

"He must have been surprised that a _woman_ could last a minute against Calum in a fistfight," the armor polisher sneered.

She looked around to Calum, the man she had fought and lost to, to see what his response would be. He smiled and told her in a low voice, "Scorpio's only jealous because he couldn't last a minute, either. You are a good fighter, and you should not be ashamed that you lost to me; even Duncan cannot best me."

She smiled back. If these were to be her companions in the Wardens, she was content. Even Scorpio would be okay, once he accepted the fact that a woman could be fighter.

"So," the archer began, turning to face Revan. "You're the newest recruit?"

"Yeah," Revan answered. "They call me Dragonheart."

Their eyes widened. "You're…Dragonheart?" Scorpio asked in a quivering voice, his bravado fading.

She shot him a triumphant look. "Yes. I am Dragonheart. Hence the scars," she gestured to the five, white scratches running across her face, evidence of her encounter with the high dragon she had slain all those months ago.

Calum and the archer nodded in approval as Scorpio stared in amazement. She stayed and talked with the other Wardens for a while before deciding to take a look at the rest of the camp. It crossed her mind to wonder what Rose was up to, but she was enjoying her conversations with the soldiers and warriors. Revan spent a long time talking with a group of warriors that called themselves the Ash Warriors. They were accompanied by a pack of vicious mabaris, who predictably growled at her approach. The warriors, however, didn't seem to mind her presence as much as their companions. As soon as Revan began inquiring, they began to break their masks of cold indifference and answered her honestly. They, too, didn't like the way the king was handling the situation. But as warriors, they had responded to his summons.

Eventually, she left the Ash Warriors and set out to find the other recruits. Ser Jory was, predictably, sharpening his sword at the armory. He was a well-built man, but something about him wasn't quite right. He seemed too timid for a knight. However, at the moment, he hadn't noticed her arrival. She sat down next to him.

"You're the other recruit? Ser Jory?" Revan greeted him amiably.

"Yeah," he looked up at her awkwardly. "Forgive me, you are…?"

"Dragonheart, the other recruit," Revan extended her hand.

"Blimey, _the_ Dragonheart?" he hesitantly grasped her hand, his eyes widening in shock.

"Well, I mean, if there isn't another person by the same name, yes," Revan smiled and shook his hand. "So, Ser Jory, tell me about yourself. Where do you hail from?"

"Um," he blinked as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I…I'm a knight. From Redcliffe. But Duncan recruited me from Highever."

"Really? We were just there naught but a week or two ago," Revan commented, not mentioning the fact that the castle had been ravaged.

"How…strange," Ser Jory said politely.

"So, do you have any family there? Wife, kids, parents?" Revan inquired, trying to not let the conversation become awkward.

"Yeah, I have a wife and a child on the way," the knight smiled proudly. "I hope this Blight ends soon, so that I can get back to them."

"I hope you can," Revan smiled, then playfully slapped him on the back as she rose. "Well, I suppose I'll see you again when Duncan summons us, yes?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he grinned awkwardly before returning to his sword.

 _I hope he realizes that there is no going back as a Warden_ , she thought to herself as she walked away. Revan vowed that, next time she had the chance, she would try to convince the man to return to his family and forget becoming a Grey Warden. Duncan wouldn't be pleased with her, but there was something about the man that gave Revan the impression that he would soon die. Revan couldn't let that happen, not if she could prevent it.

She quickly banished such gloomy thoughts as she found herself in the camp of the Circle of Magi, whose existence she had just recently learned of from Duncan. All the mages seemed cold and controlled, even from a distance. The entire camp was quiet, except for the muffled sound of slippers hitting the packed dirt. Men in shiny, silvery suits of armor stood guard with bright swords strapped to their waists in silent warning. Revan scanned the camp and discovered an older woman in bright robes leaning against a tree on the edge of the camp, her mage's staff slung across her back. Curious, she approached the woman.

"Hello," the woman kindly greeted her, her voice reminiscent of a loving mother, as velvety as a coverlet.

"So, what's the deal with those tanks over there?" Revan gestured to the guards.

"Pardon?" the mage furrowed her brow. "Do you mean the Templars?"

"They are Templars?" Revan turned back to get a better look at them. "Humph. I thought they'd be more impressive. Or at least scarier."

The mage smiled kindly. "They're scary enough to stop most mages from acting up."

Grinning, Revan offered her hand. "I'm Dragonheart, by the way."

The woman took it, saying, "And I am Wynne. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Revan smiled back. "So, what's it like to be a mage?"

"In the Circle?" Wynne shifted slightly on the tree. "Good enough, I suppose. I have not known anything else except the Circle. It has been my home since I was a little girl, and I have never really wanted to leave it. However, as to your question, we are treated fairly, are fed and cared for, and are able to practice our art freely, so it is all right."

"Except for those who use blood magic," Revan added.

"Yes, except for them. But those who delve in blood magic and demons are rare and swiftly dealt with."

Revan continued asking questions of the mage, gleaning all she could from Wynne. She was fascinated by the fact that the Chantry disliked and distrusted the mages enough to strip them of their humanity and make them what the mages aptly called "Tranquil". As a Jedi, the only force that had controlled her was the influence of other Jedi. There was no other order dedicated to keeping Force-users in check, though Revan knew of many who wished there was. The existence of the Templars baffled her. Why couldn't the mages regulate themselves? Surely the Templars caused as many problems as they solved.

Before long, Revan noticed the light fading to a warm, golden glow. The sun was suspended just above the tree line, giving the ruins a romantic feel of beauty and adventure. As if on cue, a peal of laughter rang from a nearby ruin, and out ran Rose, smiling with delight and dragging along a grinning, strapping young man by the hand. Revan and Wynne exchanged a knowing look. Rose noticed the Jedi and strung her companion after her, her hair slightly disheveled and slightly out-of-breath.

"Dragonheart! There you are!" Rose ran up to the two women with the young man in hand. "Duncan will want to talk to us soon! Apparently, there's some kind of trial we have to go through."

Revan looked from Rose to the awkward, yet handsome youth and back. Rose blushed in embarrassment. "Right; this is Alistair. Alistair, this is Dragonheart, the woman I was telling you about."

"Ah, yes, the dragon-killing darkspawn-slaying Dalish mage," Alistair smoothed back his light brown hair. " _You_ aren't going to turn me into a toad, are you?"

Revan broke out into an amused grin. "No, toads are too easy to kill. Perhaps I'll turn you into a mouse. Or perhaps a stag. That way, I'll still have the thrill of the chase _and_ I can mount your head on a wall when I've caught you."

The young Warden's eyes widened as he gulped nervously. Revan tried unsuccessfully to stifle her amusement, but at Alistair's expression she burst into a fit of raucous laughter. Rose began giggling hysterically at the same time. Even old Wynne chuckled. Alistair's terror turned to hot embarrassment as he realized Revan had been joking. He laughed sternly at himself for being a fool. Rose leaned on his shoulder as she tried to control herself, but to no avail. Revan was no better. Every time she even looked at him, she burst into another round of laughter. It hadn't even been that funny. Finally, after a few minutes of hysterical cackling, they managed to get a hold of themselves.

Rose clutched her side. "I haven't laughed like that…in ages," she gasped, still leaning on Alistair.

"Glad to be of assistance, m'lady," Alistair said happily, bearing the situation with a dignity that only someone used to taunts and insults can have.

"Well," Revan began, breathing hard. "Let's go find Duncan, shall we?"

She bowed to Wynne before heading back in the direction of the Grey Warden's tent. Rose took Alistair's hand and followed her as she exchanged low whispers with him. Duncan was waiting for them by a huge bonfire, along with Ser Jory, the other recruit Daveth, and Fuzzywuggins. The Mabari perked up when he caught the scent of his master, and bounded, barking, to meet her. Alistair seemed a little surprised as the big hound jumped on Rose like a puppy, his paws resting on her shoulders, but with a shrug from Revan, accepted the Mabari's presence. Duncan looked up at their approach.

"Ah, so you two found Alistair, did you?" Duncan greeted them. "Good. I'll assume you all are ready to begin preparations. Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair."

Alistair grinned guiltily. "What can I say? The revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

Duncan was not amused. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Alistair looked away in shame. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

"You're right, Duncan," the young Warden acceded. "I apologize."

Duncan turned back to the recruits. Revan's gaze lingered a while on Alistair, trying to figure out why a Chantry priestess, the revered Mother, would be using Alistair against the mages. "Now then, since you are all here, we can begin. You four—" Duncan looked at Rose, Alistair, Ser Jory, and the dark-haired Daveth, but not at Revan"—will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

"And what exactly do we need darkspawn blood for?" Rose questioned.

Duncan smiled and answered, "For the Joining itself. I'll explain more once you've returned."

"And the second task?" Rose crossed her arms, clearly not satisfied with the previous answer but knowing that she would get nothing more from the stubborn Warden.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve those scrolls, if you can."

"What kind of scrolls?" Revan interjected.

"Old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They were once considered only as formalities, but with so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with," Duncan gave her a meaningful look. Revan understood his meaning immediately.

"And if they're no longer there?" Daveth shrewdly inquired.

"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen, though the seals' magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal," Duncan answered.

"I don't understand," Alistair scratched his head. "Why leave such things in a ruin if they're so valuable?"

Duncan sighed. "It was assumed that we would someday return. A great many things were assumed that have not held true."

"All right. So, find the vials of darkspawn blood and retrieve the scrolls. Got it," Rose said authoritatively.

Duncan turned to Alistair. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely."

"Don't worry; we will," Alistair said cheerfully.

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you four when you return. Dragonheart, I need to talk with you," Duncan looked at her, then bowed to the four that were leaving. The three recruits and Alistair bowed in return, and headed toward the gate that led to the Korcari Wilds.

"Oh Mythal, what's happening now?" Revan invoked the elven goddess's name for protection.

The older man ran his hand through his bound hair. "I have a…different task in mind for you. You have already proven yourself reliable and capable in battle. However, this is a task of a different nature. We normally only have older Wardens do this but…" Duncan looked toward the gate, "our only mage is too busy preparing for the upcoming battle to assist us. So, I am going to teach you how to prepare the Joining."

Revan tilted her head to the side in confusion. "But I though recruits weren't allowed to know the details of the Joining?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes. But I do not think you will flee in terror. Your reasons for staying are stronger than that," he stated. "So, I will need you to fetch two vials of darkspawn blood and then return. Quickly."

Revan crossed her chest with her arms in a gesture of silent assent, and then dashed to the gate. The guard there did not blink when she shoved open the gate and ran out. Within five minutes of leaving the camp, Revan was surrounded on all sides by yellowing grass, dark trees, and a constant, eerie mist that blanketed the ground. The Korcari Wilds were a cold, evil place, and Revan could feel the power of the Dark Side embodied in the mist. This was a place of death and tragedy. She was eager to leave the place.

She closed her eye, using her second sight to scan the area for life. Sure enough, there were darkspawn in the area. Revan sprinted toward them and, whipping out her swords, cut the small band of hurlocks and genlocks down in seconds. She took out the two vials, filled them up, and dashed back to Ostagar as fast as she could, even using the Force to propel her faster. There was something in the Wilds, an ominous presence that Revan didn't want to meet.

Duncan was waiting in his tent for her, pouring over maps and documents. Fuzzywuggins waited patiently at his feet, and upon seeing Revan, looked up and barked happily. The aging Warden looked up as well and asked, "Did you retrieve the vials?"

"Of course," Revan smiled, showing him the two vials full of dark, sluggish blood.

"Excellent," Duncan said, straightening his back. "Follow me, please."

Duncan, followed by Revan and Fuzzywuggins, walked through the ruins to a secluded section of rubble. A wooden table covered in magical items was evidence of recent activity. A large, silver chalice stood proudly in the center of the table.

"That," Duncan started, noticing that Revan was looking at the out-of-place object, "is the Joining Chalice."

"Right…" Revan nodded. "So why did I collect two vials?"

Duncan stood silent for a moment before responding. "A few nights ago, when you were out hunting, I got Rose's permission to put her Mabari through the Joining. Without the benefits of being a Warden, he will surely ingest too much of the taint and—"

"—and die," Revan finished. "A wise choice, on her part. So, what's the catch?"

Duncan looked down. "Maker, you're almost too smart. But, I suppose you'll find out soon enough." Duncan paused a moment before continuing, "The Joining is…dangerous. We take the taint within ourselves. Some cannot handle it, and they die. The others who survive become Grey Wardens. However, there is a significant chance that those that go through the Joining will die."

Revan grunted in response. It didn't surprise her in the least.

"You aren't worried?" he asked, curious at her reaction.

"No," she answered honestly. "I'm not going to die."

Duncan furrowed his brows. "And how could you know that?"

"Just trust me; I won't die," Revan repeated. "Now, you were going to tell me how to prepare for the ritual…?"

"Right," he responded. "The Joining requires three things: darkspawn blood, lyrium, and the blood of an Archdemon."

Now Revan was surprised. "Really? Blood? Why is it that every ritual here seems to involve blood?"

Duncan ignored her comment and proceeded to tell her how they were mixed together. The preparation for the ritual involved a lot of magic, but Revan didn't complain about her slight exhaustion. Revan almost recoiled at the Archdemon's blood, but she restrained herself and silently scolded herself. Soon, the concoction was complete. The black liquid sloshed inside the Joining Chalice as Duncan held it to Fuzzywuggins' mouth, and together, they managed to get the Mabari to drink it. Immediately, the Mabari's eyes rolled and turned white before he toppled over to the ground. Duncan checked Fuzzywuggins pulse, but Revan could already tell with her second sight. The Mabari had lived. They both breathed a sigh of relief. If he had died…Revan could only imagine Rose's fury.

Duncan then left with Fuzzywuggins, leaving Revan to prepare the next batch of the mixture, minus the darkspawn blood. The process wasn't terribly difficult, but it did drain Revan of her strength. About an hour later, when the sun had disappeared and the sky was a brilliant azure and Revan had finished preparing, the party returned. Duncan, Revan, and Fuzzywuggins met them at the roaring bonfire.

"So, you return from the Wilds. Have you been successful?" Duncan asked seriously.

"We have," Rose handed him the three vials of the thick, black blood, which Duncan passed to Revan.

"Good. I've had Dragonheart preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately. I will not lie to you; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. The Joining is dangerous. You must all gather your courage for what is about to come."

"Is that why the Joining is so secret?" Rose wondered.

Duncan gave her a tired smile. "If only such secrecy were unnecessary and all understood the necessity of such sacrifice. Sadly, that will never be so."

"Let's go, then. I'm anxious to see this Joining now," Daveth said.

"I agree. Let's have it done," Ser Jory put on a brave face.

"Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple. Dragonheart, if you could finish the Joining?" Duncan subtly commanded.

He turned and left, expecting Revan to prepare the blood mixture by herself. But Revan had noticed that Ser Jory looked discomfited, as if he had just seen his own, untimely death. She remembered her earlier thoughts about sending the man home so, stuffing the blood vials in her pocket, went over to the knight.

"Are you okay, Ser Jory?" Revan asked politely, taking his arm and leading him towards the middle of the encampment, away from Alistair and the others.

The knight stiffened at the question. "Yeah, I'm just…a little shaken, I guess."

Revan could see that it was more than that, even without the Force aiding her. This man didn't belong in the Wardens. He would die during the Joining, Revan was certain of it. The old Sith part of her, the seed of darkness in her heart, said, _He is weak._ The Jedi inside of her compelled her to do something to try and save him.

"Go home," Revan stared deeply into his eyes, his soul, using the Force to overwhelm his feeble will. "Go back to your wife and unborn son. You do not want to be a Grey Warden. You want to forget about this entire experience."

"I…do not want to be a Grey Warden," he repeated. "I want to forget this. I want to go home."

And, with that, Ser Jory began walking out of Ostagar, back to Highever. Revan watched him go until he faded from sight before returning to the little alchemical corner in the ruins. The mixture was ready, sitting in the bottom of the Joining Chalice. Revan added the darkspawn blood, finishing the ritual as Duncan had instructed her, and carried the goblet to the old temple on the outskirts of the ruins, away from the prying eyes of others. Daveth and Rose were already there, but they paid her no mind, instead wondering where Jory was. Duncan entered the temple with Alistair trailing behind him and voiced these concerns.

"I sent him home," Revan blatantly told the senior Warden.

Duncan seemed bewildered. "Why would you do that? The need for Wardens is too great!"

Revan gave him one of her cold looks that once gave Malak shivers. "Ser Jory was weak. He would have died during the Joining. He can do more good in Highever, protecting his wife and his neighbors from the threat of the Blight, than he can ever do here, as a Warden."

"That was not your decision to make," Duncan said, equally as cold.

"I cannot stand by and watch an insignificant, innocent man needlessly give his life when he obviously would not have done anyone any good by it," Revan argued. "I'd rather his child have a father than a faceless hero. No disrespect, sir."

Duncan simmered angrily, but backed down. Although he didn't like his authority being usurped, he could see her point. "I hope you were right," Duncan acceded.

"So, at last we come to the Joining. Not all those who drink the blood—" he gestured to the chalice, "—will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is so secret, and why we _usually_ don't let anyone leave. This is the price we pay. We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

They all moved in closer to form something that resembled a circle. Alistair bowed his head, as if in prayer, and repeated solemnly, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you."

Duncan fetched the Joining Chalice and handed it to Daveth, saying, "Rise, Daveth."

The young lad took the chalice and, with a scrutinizing look at the contents, drank some and handed it back to Duncan. Immediately, he began choking and sputtering as his eyes turned white and the taint destroyed his body. Duncan could already tell Daveth was doomed.

"I am sorry, Daveth," he said, standing over the youth as he spasmed and then collapsed, dead.

Duncan then approached Rose. "And now, we come to you. Rise, and become one of us."

Rose took the chalice hesitantly, glancing uncomfortably at Daveth's corpse, and drank. She bent over in pain, clutching her head as her mind was opened to the secret whispers of the Archdemons. Then, she collapsed. But she was still alive.

Alistair went to her as Duncan approached Revan, the last. "Rise, Dragonheart. I hope you were right about this."

Revan took the chalice, her heart beating incredibly fast, but her hands steady. She knew she would survive, but she was still nervous. What if she was wrong? What if, all this time, she had been too cocky? Revan raised it to her lips and drank the ebony blood before handing the Joining Chalice back to Duncan.

" _Why must it taste like cherries!_ " she shouted as her eyes went white and she fell to the floor, overcome with pain, for the fourth time in her short existence.

* * *

 

_Revan floated above a chasm, deep underground, filled with the dark, bustling bodies of thousands of darkspawn as they assembled their army. None of them looked up, none saw her flying overhead. Or, at least, that's what she assumed she was doing. The army was huge, mindless, and completely devoted to its leader. He perched precariously on a ledge higher in the giant cavern, observing his work. His black scales glittered red in the light of the forges' fires, and his black eyes glinted evilly. Urthemiel, Archdemon, corrupted Old God of Tevinter. He noticed her, and roared viciously._

_HA! WE MEET AGAIN, SMALL ONE! Urthemiel spoke in her head. BUT THIS TIME, IT SEEMS WE ARE ON OPPOSING SIDES._

_Revan tried to speak, tried to yell, tried to move, but she was bound by the dream. She desperately wished she could curse at him. Urthemiel curled back his lips, revealing his sharp, silvery, serrated teeth in a kind of mocking smile._

_WHAT A WASTE. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE…REVAN. TOGETHER, WE WOULD HAVE BEEN UNSTOPPABLE! SO, INSTEAD, I'LL JUST KILL YOUR INSIGNIFICANT 'FRIENDS' WHO THINK THEY CAN DEFEAT ME AND MAKE YOU MY PRIZED BROODMOTHER! Urthemiel laughed in a reptilian way, from the back of the throat. YOU WILL BE THE PERFECT BROODMOTHER! PERHAPS YOU COULD GIVE ME SOME NEW BREED OF DARKSPAWN THAT NO ONE COULD STOP! AH HA HA! PERHAPS YOU CAN GIVE ME MORE ARCHDEMONS! THAT IS WHAT THE FATE OF THE GREAT REVAN SHALL BE!_

_Revan was brought closer to him, until her spirit was standing beneath him, looking up at his gigantic head and monstrous teeth. His demonic eyes bored into hers._

_JUST REMEMBER WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, REVAN. JUST REMEMBER._

_Revan was drawn into his eyes, into the black abyss that awaited her. She screamed…_

* * *

 

…and bolted upright, sweating profusely. Poor Alistair, who had been leaning over her face, stumbled backwards as she smacked him with her forehead. Unfazed, she quickly glanced at her hands to make sure that she was real, and not still in the Deep Roads, with the darkspawn. Shakily, she ran a hand through her black hair as she tried to get a grip on reality. Duncan, kneeling next to Rose, noticed her awakening and hurried to her side. Alistair held his head and moved to a safe distance.

"How are you?" Duncan asked, genuinely concerned.

"A-alive," Revan attempted to calm herself. "Though, mentally, I don't think I'll ever recover."

"That tends to be the case," Alistair said as he gently massaged his forehead. "Once a Grey Warden, always a Grey Warden, right?"

Nearby, there was a groan as Rose emerged from her dreams. Alistair rushed over to her as Duncan helped Revan rise. They kneeled next to Rose as she awoke, staring groggily at the sky.

"It is finished," Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. "Welcome."

Alistair offered her a hand up, which Rose gratefully took.

"At least there was only one death this time," the lad said to no one in particular. "That was how it was in my Joining, but it was…horrible. Not something you're likely to ever forget."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked Rose, ignoring Alistair like usual.

"It's over. I'm fine," she declared bravely, holding one hand against her head to ward against the pain.

"Did you two have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining," Alistair continued, undaunted.

Revan looked away uncomfortably and Rose grimaced. Duncan interjected, saving them from having to speak, by saying, "Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget," Alistair, said, reaching into a pocket, "there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us…of those who didn't make it this far."

He handed Revan and Rose a silver necklace with a silver charm crisscrossed with lines of black darkspawn blood. The hint of Archdemon blood within whispered softly to Revan, despite it all. She clasped it around her neck, ignoring her revulsion, as a reminder of why she had agreed to become a Grey Warden. And as a reminder of her past.

"Take some time," Duncan spoke after a moment. "When you are ready, I'd like you both to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

Rose and Revan exchanged a look. "What kind of meeting?" Rose asked, fingering the pendant around her neck.

"The king is discussing strategy for the approaching battle. I am not sure why has requested for both of you," Duncan stated calmly. "The meeting is just down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you both are able."

Duncan and Alistair turned and left, leaving Revan alone with Rose.

"I saw the Archdemon," the young girl stated.

"I did, too," Revan responded gravely.

"So, I guess this is a Blight, after all," Rose continued. "Shall we head to the meeting?"

They walked down the stairs and to the large, stone table on the other side of what once was a grand hall. A large map of Ostagar was spread out on the table, and in front, King Cailan was talking with a shorter man in heavy silverite armor, with black hair and sunken eyes that gleamed with calculating intelligence. A balding mage stood nearby, watching carefully. Revan assumed the black-haired advisor was Teyrn Loghain, but she did not know who the mage might be. Rose and Revan quickly skirted them and moved to the other side of the table to stand next to Duncan.

"Loghain, my decision is final," Cailan firmly stated as they stealthily moved. "I will stand with the Grey Wardens in this assault."

"You risk too much, Cailan," Loghain scolded him. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

"If that's the case," Cailan argued, "then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all."

"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves," Loghain seethed bitterly. Revan recalled something from her late-night reading at Highever about the kingdom of Orlais ruling Ferelden in the not-too-distant past. She assumed he still bore some resentment towards them.

"It is not a fool notion," Cailan championed. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will remember who is king."

"How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century," Loghain said sarcastically.

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" Cailan spun and faced the Wardens. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty," he responded.

"And these are the two ladies I met earlier? I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Rose answered before Revan could grimace in displeasure.

"Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks," Cailan continued.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan," Loghain accosted him bitterly. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine, speak your strategy," the king relented.

He and Loghain bent over the map and began discussing the general battle plan, assuming everything went according to plan. It was a simple, if well-devised, plan of bait and lure. Cailan and the Wardens, along with most of the army, would serve as bait for the larger darkspawn force. When the darkspawn had fallen for it, Loghain's forces would be alerted by a signal and would move in to flank the darkspawn, thus trapping the horde. It was a good plan, but Revan could see some flaws.

She looked closely at the map as the rest of the party bickered about who would light the signal. Loghain did not trust the Grey Wardens to do it, but Cailan did not want to take any chances. The mage suggested that the Circle magi take care of the signal, but he was shot down by the timely arrival of a Chantry priestess.

"Enough! This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon," Loghain finally conceded.

"There's only one problem," Revan interjected. "With most of the forces drawn away from the ruins, there will be several spots the darkspawn may try to overrun, and therefore flank both of our armies."

Loghain stopped and looked back at the map. "And where do you see that?"

"Well, the most obvious is at the tower you were speaking of," Revan pointed to it. "There could be old tunnels in and out of it that the darkspawn could use. If we lose the tower, the whole plan fails, and there is a great chance that the horde has enough numbers to attempt something like this."

"Well, that's something _you_ 'll have to deal with," Loghain retorted. "We don't have enough forces to spare."

Revan said no more, and soon Cailan dismissed them all. Before leaving, Revan and Loghain exchanged a nod of mutual respect; they both realized the other was a master general. Duncan began walking back to the camp, with Rose, Revan, and the obedient Fuzzywuggins trailing behind.

Revan hurried to catch up to Duncan. "So, you want me to go with them to light the signal?"

"You know that I would rather have you by my side in battle," Duncan said apologetically, "but I need you to protect them both."

"They are quite capable of defending themselves," Revan protested.

Duncan pursed his lips. "Of that I have no doubt. But there is more to it than that. A long time ago, I made a promise to Alistair's mother that I would protect him. I can't do that tonight, so I'm putting my faith in you."

"That is…unwise," she responded bitterly.

"Look, Dragonheart," he stopped and spun to face her, "I don't care what horrible things you might have done in the past. I, too, have done horrible things, but that doesn't make me a terrible person. And you are definitely _not_ a terrible person. I trust you, Dragonheart. You need to trust yourself."

Revan bowed her head, and Duncan continued walking towards the roaring bonfire of the Warden's camp. Alistair was there, waiting impatiently.

"You two heard the plan," Duncan said, facing the three of them. "You all will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"What? I won't be in the battle?" a distraught Alistair complained.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge," Duncan explained.

"So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case, right?"

Rose grimaced. "I don't like this, either. We would be of more use fighting than running errands."

"This is not your choice," the senior Warden quelled their protests. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn, exciting or no."

"This is why politicians are not allowed to be generals where I come from," Revan grumbled. Duncan eyed her, but said nothing.

"I get it, I get it," Alistair relented. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I think I'd like to see that," Rose said to him playfully.

"For you, maybe," the youth smiled. "But it has to be a pretty dress."

Duncan sighed audibly, and Revan struggled to stifle her laughter. "The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp, the way we came when we arrived," Duncan informed them. "You'll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley, and you can light the signal."

"All right. It sounds easy enough," Rose said.

"We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for."

"Okay. I think we're ready," she stated, stretching her arms.

"Then I must join the others." Duncan met each of their eyes. Lightning flashed overhead, the sign of an approaching storm. "From here, you three are on your own. Remember, you are all Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan…may the Maker watch over you," Alistair said, suddenly serious.

"May He watch over us all," Duncan responded somberly.

Rose and Alistair left to finish preparing, and Duncan walked over to Revan.

"I don't like this," she told him honestly. Thunder cracked overhead, and a raindrop fell on her head.

"I don't either. But, we do not have a choice in this," Duncan told her. He offered her a hand. "It was a pleasure fighting at your side, Dragonheart."

Revan threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. The Warden stiffened, caught off-guard, but did not draw away.

"And a pleasure to be at yours, _Lethallin_ ," she whispered, then pulled away. "I guess I shall see you after the battle."

"Yes," Duncan agreed. "After the battle."

Revan left and rejoined Rose and Alistair, who were waiting near the bridge, taking her time. Revan was not eager to fight.

"This is it," Rose said as she approached. Together, they jogged to the bridge.

A roar echoed from beneath the bridge as the armies charged each other. Large, burning boulders flew through the air and struck the ruins, knocking down the ancient structures bit by bit. Rose stopped and stared at the scene. Obviously, the young girl had never actually seen a battle. Revan, on the other hand, had seen too many. She had almost forgotten the charged energy of the air, the smell of sweat and fear, and the constant clamor of battle. And she had almost forgotten how much she hated it. Almost.

"Come on! We need to get to the Tower of Ishal!" Alistair shouted above the din.

Rose was shaken back into reality, and she lunged after him, followed by Revan. The archers on the bridge aimed at the horde, but many were shot down as the Wardens passed. Several flaming boulders struck the bridge, killing the soldiers and knocking the party to the ground. Rose always was first back on her feet as she ran to the other side of the bridge, her mind set on her task. Alistair and Revan followed.

At the other end of the bridge, near the base of the huge tower, a mage and a soldier were speaking in frantic tones. The soldier noticed them first.

"You—you're Grey Wardens, right? The tower…it's been taken!" the man roared, his nerves frayed.

"Taken? Taken how?" Alistair demanded.

"Darkspawn!" the man responded. "They came up through the lower levels and overran us. They're everywhere!"

Revan turned and gave Rose a pointed look. She had been right after all. Rose, in return, scowled at her. "Well then, we better take it back."

The soldier nodded and ran up the ramp towards the tower. The party, plus the mage, ran after him. Darkspawn were pouring into the area, outnumbering the remaining soldiers. Revan saw them fighting bravely, but they all were overwhelmed and cut down by the merciless darkspawn. She plunged into the fray, her blades whirling frenetically as darkspawn blood pooled on the ground. Soon, with the advances of Rose and Alistair, the darkspawn were driven from the area around the tower. They charged into the tower, unabated.

The soldier had been right. The darkspawn had already taken control of the tower, their corruption evident within. Alistair froze, shocked by this realization.

"Maker's breath!" he exclaimed nervously. "What are all these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Revan smiled cynically and suggested, "Well, perhaps you should try telling them they're in the wrong place."

"Right. Because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later. At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get up to the top and light the signal on time! Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for it!" Alistair declared before rushing off to fight the approaching darkspawn. With a quick glance at Revan, Rose rushed after him, followed closely by Revan. The mage hung back and shot spells from a distance.

They moved through the tower's levels quickly. Her new Grey Warden blood made it easier for her to anticipate their attacks, allowing Revan to quickly dispatch the darkspawn. As Revan had predicted, there was a large, gaping hole on the first floor, surrounded by the bodies of those who had been caught off-guard and slain. Rose grimaced queasily, but did not linger. Soon, they had cleared the first floor and ascended to the next.

The tower had four floors, and as they moved up through it, they searched each room for survivors. There were none. Only darkspawn remained in the Tower of Ishal. Soon, not even darkspawn remained as the party ruthlessly cut them down. At last, they came to the last flight of stairs, leading to the top of the tower and to the signal fire, waiting to be lit. They were all uneasy at this point. The mission seemed to be suicide. Revan kept quiet, but through her second sight she knew that more darkspawn were coming to replace those who had fallen.

They rushed up the stairs, eager to finish this doomed mission. Rose, who was leading, abruptly stopped, almost causing Revan and Alistair to run into her. They peered over her to see why she had frozen. In front of them, in the large, cavernous room that housed the beacon, a monster was feeding on the corpse of some poor, unfortunate soldier unlucky enough to have been stationed in the tower. The monster was huge, twice the height of a man, and was covered with bluish-grey skin and armored lightly with iron pauldrons and armguards. Its hands were the size of dinner plates and easily capable of crushing a man's skull. A rack of thick, black, twisted horns grew out of its massive head. It slowly swiveled around, realizing that something had interrupted its meal. Blood dripped from its mouth, and upon seeing them, roared, spraying blood-flecked saliva everywhere. Revan had seen its kind before: ogres, the brutes of the darkspawn horde.

Revan surreptitiously imbued Rose with courage, using the Force. She could see the young girl's posture shift, and with a retorting roar of her own, raised her sword and sprinted to meet this new foe. Alistair followed suit, though he too, was scared. As they attacked from the front, Revan snuck around from behind. Alistair was using his size to draw the beast away from Rose, parrying its hands as it swiped at his head. Rose tried attacking its legs, but it had not forgotten about her, and often struck the ground in an attempt to knock her off-balance. The mage, meanwhile, used spells to slowly wear down the beast. As soon as she was behind the ogre, Revan augmented her strength with the Force, jumped up, and rammed her swords into the ogre's back. The beast screamed, arching his back in an attempt to reach behind and claw her off. Revan hung on. Rose took the opportunity to attack, hamstringing the ogre while he was distracted. The ogre let out another roar, and it fell to its knees. Rose, now on eye-level with it, stabbed her sword through its forehead. The ogre shook, and as she pulled out her sword, it collapsed to the ground.

Alistair looked at Rose appreciatively, though he didn't comment. Instead, he walked over to the large pile of wood within a chimney-like structure.

"We've probably missed the signal. Let's hope we aren't too late," he said, waiting for them to join him. Rose nodded to Revan, who used her magic to combust the wood. The fire burst into life, lighting the beacon. Now, they would wait.

Suddenly, Revan's mind was torn from her body. Her mind was on the battlefield, looking at the blood-soaked valley littered with the corpses of both darkspawn and men. Her host's body was splattered with gore, as were his swords. Revan recognized the weapons, and realized that she was in Duncan's body, sharing his mind. His thoughts were linked with hers. He pulled his blades out of a hurlock and spun to see Cailan fighting nearby. They exchanged a worried glance. The battle was not going well, and they were in desperate need of Loghain's forces. But they were nowhere to be seen. Seconds later, they heard a roar from behind them. Duncan spun, only to get swept aside by a charging ogre. He landed heavily on his side, the pain of his breaking ribs as fresh in her mind as in his. Clutching his chest, he struggled to rise and looked up just in time to see his king, Cailan, fighting urgently to escape the ogre's clutches. With a triumphant roar, the ogre snapped Cailan's back and tossed him aside like a rag doll, where he smashed into two other soldiers. Shocked into action, Duncan rose and, brandishing his daggers, jumped on the ogre and plunged his daggers in its chest. It hollered in pain, but Duncan's daggers were not long enough to fatally wound it. So Duncan pulled out one and stabbed it higher, even closer to its corrupted heart. Revan lent him strength as he pulled himself up further, until he was able to stare the brute in the eye. He plunged a dagger in, right below the collarbone, and pushed it deeper until it stabbed through the ogre's heart. The beast gave one more, great roar and fell to the ground. Duncan was thrown off, stripped of his weapons. Looking up, he saw that the beacon had been lit, and that no reinforcements had come. Teyrn Loghain had betrayed them. He knew he was going to die, and so did Revan. With the last of his strength, he gave Revan all of his memories. In return, Revan took all of his pain within her own mind and shared with him some of her happiest memories in his last moments. She showed him some of the planets she had been to, showed him the wondrous planet-city of Coruscant, the beaches of Lehon, the azure waters of Manaan, the colorful world of Felucia, and the beautiful planet of Gala. She shared with him some of her happiest memories, imbuing him with joy and serenity. She felt him be at peace. A hurlock alpha approached, and with a cruel, twisted laugh, plunged his corrupted blade into Duncan's heart.

Revan screamed as the pain flooded through her. Her consciousness returned to her body, and the pain ceased. She found herself clutching her head, with Rose and Alistair staring at her, concerned. They were about to say something, but there was a bang as the door leading to the stairs was kicked in. A second later, several genlocks appeared, armed with bows, and fired. Rose took several in the torso and collapsed, but she was still alive. The mage took one to the head and died. Alistair charged, roaring with fury, but he too was shot and knocked unconscious. Summoning her power, Revan unleashed a torrent of the Force in a vain attempt to save her friends. The air around her turned to plasma as bolts of lightning shot from her body and struck the darkspawn. She fell to her knees, drained of all energy, with the bodies of the darkspawn cluttering the stairs. More were filing in, shuffling through the bodies of their comrades. They were going to die.

With a large boom, the rest of the darkspawn were blasted into oblivion from behind. Slowly, a woman ascended the stairs and surveyed the carnage. She was an old, ancient woman, with white hair, deep wrinkles, and bright, cunning eyes, but Revan could see her true form. Upon seeing Revan kneeling prone on the floor, the woman smiled devilishly, ignoring the others. Those familiar eyes locked with Revan's.

The woman flashed her sharp teeth at Revan. "So, we meet at last…Urthemiel."


	7. Act VII

Act VII: The Korcari Wilds

"How did you know who I was? Am?"

Revan and the old woman were sitting on two stumps that the witch had magically shaped into chairs. The Wilds were aflame with golds and pinks as the sun rose in the east, beginning a new day. The shadowed, menacing trees were stark reminders of the previous night, a night of horrors and bloodshed. Revan pushed the memories aside, focusing her attention on the ancient woman who had introduced herself as _Asha'bellanar_ or, as she put it modestly, "just Flemeth."

"I don't _know_ anything. I could just be a crazy old woman, and everything I think I know could just be my imagination."

Revan scowled. "Okay, then. Why did you think I was who I was? Or would it be _what_ I was?"

"Now there's an interesting way of putting it," Flemeth chortled. "Let's see…how to explain it…well, just as the Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn, and the darkspawn the Grey Wardens, _we_ can sense each other. Our kind, I mean."

"Is that why I felt your presence the first time I entered the Wilds?"

"Indeed, it is. Though I could sense you _leagues_ away. You should really begin working on your range, dearie. Perhaps, one day, someone like us will show up on _your_ doorstep ready to change the world. You certainly showed up on mine."

"Right, because something like that is just _so_ likely," Revan responded sarcastically. "But how did you sense that I was coming? Before I crashed; I mean, when you told Keeper Marethari about me."

Flemeth looked towards the sunrise and grinned toothily. "You restrain yourself to your pathetic mortal bonds. I…have freed my mind. I am no longer restricted to the confines of space and time like all the others are. It is one of our many gifts, which you seem to have spurned."

"That choice—to become what I have…it was a bad decision on my part, one that has caused me too much regret," the Jedi admitted, "one that I intend to fix. So, you can travel through time?"

"Ha ha!" Flemeth cackled. "I wish! If that were the case, I would make sure that these damned Blights never happened and that those damn-foolish Tevinter didn't go poking their noses where they shouldn't have been. No, my _mind_ can travel through time. It's a dangerous hobby. Sometimes you can get lost in the possibilities. But, if you know what to look for, you can predict the future pretty accurately. Of course, there's always the off-chance that it doesn't happen at all. But there's also the chance that hippos will turn pink and the sky will turn green."

"So why did you give Marethari the drawings?"

"You mean the wards? To help control your powers? Why not? I don't want you losing control and murdering any essential people, or yourself. I have to protect my investments," the old woman said slyly.

"Are they your so-called 'essential people'?" Revan gestured to her hut, where Rose and Alistair recuperated, their wounds healed by magic.

"Indeed," Flemeth assented. "At least, they are two of the few."

"Is that why you came to save us? Even if it was against your nature?"

"Ah, you _have_ learned something about us, after all. Yes, I saved them because I believe—wait, do I believe? Yes, I _do_ believe they are necessary to end this Blight. _You_ , unfortunately, can't end it alone."

"Why not?" Revan swiveled her head, surprised.

"You can't kill him. You can't even hurt him. But neither can he hurt you."

"That's good to know." There was a lull in the conversation. They observed the sun as the bright disk spread its light further and further into the dark Wilds, the mere company of the other enough for both of them.

Revan saw someone emerge from the woods behind them. It was a young woman, about Rose's age, who Revan could see was imbued with magic. Flemeth had told Revan about the girl earlier when she had been absent to help heal the others. Apparently the girl was a gifted shapeshifter, as well as a constant annoyance to her mother.

The girl walked up behind her mother and grasped the back of the tree-chair with her talon-like fingers. Flemeth, too, had sensed her daughter's approach, so she was not surprised in the slightest.

"And who is this, Mother?" she asked, her voice rich for one so young.

"You would know, if you had stayed home instead of going out and spying on the Chasind," Flemeth berated her. "This is my guest, as are the two Wardens sleeping inside."

"Grey Wardens? Again?" the girl asked incredulously.

"The same ones in fact," Flemeth remarked. Her daughter arched an eyebrow, somehow reminding Revan of a cat.

"You mean, the somewhat-intelligent girl and the—"

"—the foolish, yet relatively sensible Templar, yes," Flemeth finished.

Revan recalled from Duncan's memories that he had recruited Alistair from the Templars. She still had a hard time reconciling the image of the goofy Warden with the serious faces of the Templars she had seen, plus the grim, strict atmosphere of the Chantry that pervaded Duncan's memories. Though, thinking about it, it made sense. It would explain his fear of her, a mage, and the random flashes of serious contemplation that he had experienced during battle.

The girl grimaced before fixing her yellow, primal eyes on Revan. "And what of you? I don't remember you from earlier."

Revan smiled back in response. "That's because I wasn't there earlier. I was…doing other things."

Her eyes narrowed, again in a feline way, before she continued. "And what do they call you?"

"Dragonheart, if you must know," Revan told her. "And your mother tells me you are called Morrigan."

Morrigan's eyes flitted to her mother, her mouth drooping in displeasure. "Indeed," she said curiously. "But you should not trust everything Mother tells you."

"At least I've taught you something," Flemeth chortled. "However, _Dragonheart_ here can tell when a crazy old fool is lying to her or not. Isn't that one of your fancy Jedi mind tricks, dearie?"

Revan didn't know how the old woman knew about her Jedi roots, but she assumed it had something to do with her ability to be mentally anywhere at any time. For all Revan knew, perhaps Flemeth had once been a Jedi, or even a Sith. It would certainly explain a lot.

"Yes, it is, for those of us who care to learn it," she answered honestly.

"That would be a useful gift to have," Morrigan agreed.

"Now, enough jibber jabber!" Flemeth snapped. "Morrigan, you are to see to our guests while they are here. Anything they require, you are to fetch for them. You also have to take care of them while they are resting."

The young girl flinched at the implications of the order. "Is that really—"

"Do it, girl," Flemeth ordered, her voice growing deeper by increments.

She sighed in resignation. "Very well."

Morrigan turned and gave Revan one last appraising look. She was an attractive, if yet wild and exotic, girl, with raven black hair and delicate features. For all her bravado, she looked more like an innocent girl than a ferocious Witch of the Wilds, with the exception of her skanky, revealing clothes and the twisted, wooden staff strapped to her back. She walked away, her back as straight as a board, and her chin lifted in pride.

Throughout the rest of the day, Morrigan was inside tending to her charges. Meanwhile, Revan and Flemeth talked, perfectly comfortable watching the horizon from their chairs while talking about things that would have confused anyone that hadn't been through the same things as they had. They exchanged stories, Revan beginning and explaining her life from the planet she had been raised on, to her part in the Mandalorian War, and then to her tragic turn to the Dark Side. Revan told her how she came to Thedas the first time, unafraid to tell the woman because they had both sinned the same. Flemeth listened intently, fascinated. When Revan had finished, she began her own tale.

Flemeth had not begun as a Witch of the Wilds. She had begun as a Jedi apprentice, much as Revan had, but Flemeth had been recruited by the Sith at an early age. She had taken part in the Great Hyperspace War, on the side of Ludo Kressh. After he was killed, she had left and, wandering the galaxy, had found herself on Thedas. However, when she crashed due to the strange anti-electric field that surrounded the planet, she found herself at the mercy of Tevinter slavers who had taken her lightsaber and had collared her. While displaying her at an auction, a powerful Tevinter magister had fallen in love with her beauty upon seeing her, and had decided to marry her. Controlled by his magic, Flemeth slowly learned how to use magic from watching her new, despised husband, while carrying on an affair with a young, penniless minstrel. Unfortunately, much betrayal and scheming had followed, and, out of desperation for power to escape her fate, Flemeth had struck the deal.

The old woman was speaking of the result of her dangerous bargain when screaming erupted from the house. They both swiveled around to see poor Alistair, dressed only in his small clothes with a terrorized expression on his face, bursting out of the hut. He looked around, petrified, before fixing his gaze on Revan. His eyes were dilated in distress.

"I don't have any pants," he said, dazed and frantic. "Please tell me this is just a dream!"

Revan felt sympathy for the traumatized lad. She touched his mind with the Force, imbuing him with peace and exhaustion. He wobbled slightly. "This is a dream," she told him, using the same trick that she had used on Ser Jory.

"This is a—" Alistair swayed, falling to the ground with a thud.

Morrigan emerged calmly from the hut, her face contorted with displeasure. She looked condescendingly at the now-snoring body of Alistair. "What a miserable waste of air," she commented.

Revan arose, her legs sore from sitting all day. With a little mental effort, she lifted Alistair with just her mind and brought him back inside the hut. At the door, she turned back to Morrigan, who was observing the Jedi coolly.

"Get the poor man some pants would you, please?" Revan commanded. Morrigan's eyes narrowed in anger, but she followed Revan in.

The inside of Flemeth's hut was surprisingly tidy and clean. A fireplace roared with a cackling blaze, and books were orderly placed on a nearby bookshelf with a few chairs seated next to it. A neatly-concealed ladder led to what Revan assumed was Morrigan's bedroom. Herbs were strung from the ceiling, making the room smell like spring. Rose lay on the large bed, the covers twisted around her body as she tossed in a sea of dreams. A cot, much like the ones Marethari used, lay next to it, the blankets thrown off in what appeared to have been a struggle. She set him down, using only the power of her mind and the Force. Morrigan returned shortly, carrying a pair of brown trousers in her hands.

"I'm not putting them on," she said bluntly.

Revan raised an eyebrow. "What did he do to make you hate him so much?"

Morrigan opened her mouth to answer but stopped, searching for a proper response. "He's…he's a twit," she finally answered.

Revan gave her a skeptical look. "He assumed I was a threat," she finally gave in. "He took one look at me and judged me."

The Jedi looked critically at her but didn't say anything. Instead, she lifted the pants out of her arms with the Force and, using her mind, put them on Alistair. Morrigan looked at Revan questioningly.

"What?" Revan asked. "I didn't want to put them on him, either."

Morrigan began smiling, but quickly caught herself and, with a small nod of respect, slipped back out into the Wilds. Revan grabbed a chair and drew it up in between the beds, looking at her friends as they peacefully slept. She felt…horrible. About Duncan, about the Blight, about Lyna. It seemed that everywhere she went something horrible happened. Perhaps it would have been better if she had died on board her flagship, like Malak had wanted. Or even before, like when she had first crashed on Thedas. Perhaps it would have been better if the Sith Emperor had just killed both her and Malak when he had had the chance.

 _The Sith Emperor_ …she had forgotten her original purpose of coming into the deepest regions of space. Revan clutched her head, rocking back and forth. While she was stuck on this back-water world, the entire galaxy was in peril because she had gone to the wrong planet.

After what seemed like an eternity in her mind, Flemeth entered the hut, presumably seeing what Revan was up to. Revan quickly uncurled herself from the fetal position, hoping Flemeth hadn't noticed.

"I forgot, as I often do," the old woman began cryptically. "Come with me."

Revan rose from her chair, following Flemeth to the bookcase. Flemeth waved her hand through the air, muttering a few words under her breath. A large hole appeared in the floor, the space beyond it black as night. Flemeth turned and smiled at her before jumping down. With a sigh of reluctance, she jumped down after the old woman.

She softened the blow of the fall with the Force, which she used to slow the rate of her descent by a small degree. It was fairly dark, but her second sight allowed her to see everything around her in detail. Flemeth stood in front of her, surveying the cavern. Roots tore through the ceiling on the far ends, reaching down threateningly. The entire cavern was filled with items, ranging from books to armor and weapons. And, on a pedestal in the center, was a crystal. Light seemed to be sucked into it, a void akin to a black hole. But, in fact, it shone blindingly with energy in Revan's special sight. An unknown substance laced its surface, glowing softly in contrast with the black body. Although the substance was alien to Revan, its energy was somehow familiar, too. She slowly approached the crystal, her eyes fixated on it.

"Ah, yes, you have noticed the Force crystal," Flemeth turned. Her eyes burned yellow in the dark, her pupils nothing more than draconian slits. "It is ancient, even older than I."

"Really? I've never seen a crystal like it," she commented as she slowly approached the pedestal.

"I would think not," Flemeth responded. "It's laced with lyrium."

Revan spun around. "Lyrium? You mean, the stuff that gives mages their power?"

"It doesn't give power," Flemeth corrected her. "It amplifies it. You should know this, dearie."

Revan, with one more, longing glance at the coveted crystal, returned to Flemeth's side. In front of her was a chest with a complicated lock sealing it. With a flick of her ancient hand, gears began turning, tumblers began clicking, and the top popped open. Flemeth cast a small globe of light, which stood suspended above her head. Revan shielded her eye from this sudden burst of light, but soon her sight adjusted. Flemeth gave her a toothy grin and proceeded to dig through the large chest. Revan moved closer, peering over the older woman's shoulder. The chest was filled with clothes, armor, and weapons wrapped in cloth. Potions filled the corners. The metallic armor glinted brilliantly even in the dim light of the magelight. Finally, with much muttering and cursing, Flemeth pulled out a stack of clothes. She sorted through them and handed Revan some silk, nude undergarments. Revan held them up, examining them with both of her sights.

"Put them on," Flemeth commanded her.

"Now?" Revan whipped her head around.

The old woman laughed. "Dearie, I've raised countless daughters. I've seen it all."

Revan pursed her lips, but stripped and put them on. The shirt sleeves ended halfway down her upper arm, and the pants clung to her upper calves. They clung to her skin and fit her form like a second skin. The silk breathed well, too.

Flemeth turned, appraising how they fit with a critical eye. "Good. His stuff fits you. He was a slender man, I remember."

The Jedi's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

The old woman returned to digging in the chest. Still mumbling, she took something out and patted it gently. She turned back to Revan. A black bundle was reverently clutched in her talon-like hands. Flemeth smiled at the clothes, her face misting over as she reminisced.

"These belonged to a dear friend of mine," the witch finally spoke. "I wanted you to have them. They will serve you better than they will me. I do not fear my own power, as you seem to, even though that power will protect you. If you let it."

Revan took the black bundle. It was a pile of leather, supple and strong between her fingers. Revan unfolded the leather to find a suit of leather armor of a superior quality. Her second sight revealed that the armor was enchanted.

"Armor?" she asked bluntly.

"Even dragons have armor," Flemeth retorted. "And you seem to think you can take on the entire darkspawn horde wearing nothing but fragile Dalish garments."

Revan grinned foolishly, reprimanded. She slipped the cuirass over her head, strapped on the gauntlets, fastened the greaves, and tugged on the boots. The leather magically adjusted itself to her body. Lastly, Revan clasped the hood to the cuirass, letting it rest against her back. She moved around in it, and the armor responded to her movements. She was surprised Flemeth had given it to her.

"What's the catch?" Revan asked, skeptical of Flemeth's intentions.

"Smart girl," she answered. "You know that everything has a price. My price is quite small. There will be a time in the future when I will come and visit you. You won't want to listen to me; my price is that you do."

Revan raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"That's it," Flemeth agreed.

"Well, thank you, then," the Jedi said awkwardly. "Who did they belong to?"

"A hero," the old woman began. "One of the only men that was both wise _and_ strong. He came here, instead of becoming a dictator to his people."

"Then how did his thing come to be here?"

Flemeth smiled sadly. "He…knew he was going to die. He gave me his things and told me to give them to whoever I deemed needed them. The only things he took with him were his magnificent, magic cuirass, his enchanted gauntlet Wraithguard, his armor, and his great, flaming sword."

"What happened to it all? When he died?"

She thought about it. "The sword died with him. The armor was distributed, and the cuirass was lost. No one is quite sure what happened to it. Not that anyone cares anymore. His name was lost in antiquity, much as ours will be, in time."

"How did he die?" Revan asked, now enraptured.

"That…is a story for another time. Another time, where we have more time to speak of such idle things. Now your friend is going to wake up soon. Let's try not to have a repeat of last time, hmm?"

Flemeth walked back to the thin beam of light that shone from the hut above and, with the aid of magic, propelled herself up. With one last look at the crystal, Revan jumped, using the Force to jump higher. The witch then resealed the entrance with a spell. Revan returned to her seat in between beds, but the same feeling of melancholy returned as she sat. Flemeth was at the door before she noticed something was wrong.

"Yes? What thoughts trouble you, dearie?"

"I just…I didn't come here to stop the Blight," Revan said honestly.

"No, you came here to save your friends from dying," Flemeth retorted.

"I didn't come _to Thedas_ to stop the Blight," Revan modified her statement. "I was supposed to go to Dromund Kaas, the homeworld of the Sith Empire, to destroy the Sith once and for all. But I didn't remember that, and I ended up here by accident."

Flemeth smiled. "Nothing is by accident, dearie. You should know that."

"So you're saying you brought me here?"

"No," Flemeth said, "but I did insure that you were not needed on Dromund Kaas."

Revan looked up, startled. "What?"

"We can split our souls, make multiples of ourselves," Flemeth explained. "It takes a lot of effort, but it can be done. I sent myself in your place."

"As me?" Revan asked incredulously.

"Of course as you!" Flemeth cackled.

"But we look nothing alike!" Revan protested. "The Sith will know you are not me."

"You forget, I have more magic than you," Flemeth waved her finger at the Jedi. "I can make people see what they want to see, even when it's totally different than what is really there. The only thing you need concern yourself with about Dromund Kaas is Lord Scourge. Besides that, you should relax and focus on not getting killed here. In Thedas."

"Who is Lord Scourge?" Revan asked in confusion.

"You'll find out eventually," Flemeth dismissed the comment with a wave of her withered hand and exited the hut, leaving Revan with her jumbled thoughts.

Revan sat for a while until she heard Alistair stirring beside her. She waited as he came to, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light. He stared at the ceiling for a bit before realizing what was going on.

"Where am I?" he finally asked.

"In the Korcari Wilds," Revan answered coolly. He violently swiveled to face her, confusion painted vibrantly on his face. "In the hut of the witch you met earlier."

"The one with the creepy daughter? The one who had the treaties?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Revan responded.

"How…? Where's Rose?"

"Rose is fine," Revan told him. "Don't worry."

"Well, now I'm worried," he said. "Where is she?"

"She needs to sleep. We should go outside and talk," Revan suggested uncomfortably.

Alistair nodded and, slowly, rose from the bed before heading out the door obediently. Revan grabbed his armor from where Flemeth had stashed it and headed out after him. Alistair was standing with his back toward her, looking up at the hazy sky and the dark trees.

"You know, I had a dream that I was here. I didn't have any pants on. It was a really bad dream," Alistair said innocently.

"Really?" Revan feigned surprise. He didn't need to know the truth about that. "Here's your armor."

Thanking her, he took the grey iron armor and fastened it on, stretching his muscles to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. "So, how did we get here? The last thing I remember is you screaming, then the darkspawn coming up the stairs, and then pain. A lot of pain."

Revan grimaced, really uncomfortable now. She gestured for Alistair to take a seat in the now-unoccupied tree seats. Revan looked around for Flemeth, but the witch was gone. She sighed; she wasn't looking forward to telling Alistair what had happened.

"You were shot by a darkspawn, as was Rose. I held them at bay for a little bit, but there were too many of them. Then the witch came and rescued us all. She brought all of us back here and tended to your wounds. You should be thankful you're even alive," Revan told him.

His face paled a bit as the implications of what she said reached him. "And…the army?" he asked hesitantly.

Revan closed her eye and bowed her head. "I'm…so sorry."

Alistair gulped and shut his eyes tightly. "What happened?"

"I…I screamed because my mind was on the battlefield. The beacon was lit, but Loghain did not come. I learned later that he retreated, abandoning us all. King Cailan…he was killed by an ogre, which Duncan killed. But Duncan…"

Tears streamed down Alistair's face now. "Oh Maker, no," he held his head in his hands. "No, no, no…"

"…Duncan was killed. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Revan began crying, too. "I'm so, so sorry, so sorry…"

"Not Duncan! No, no, no, no, NO!" the young Warden sobbed.

Revan sat next to him, shedding her own silent tears as he bawled. They sat and shared their grief and misery for a long time. At one point Revan felt the eyes of Morrigan from a tree above them, looking down at them from the eyes of a bird. After a while, Flemeth returned but proceeded instead to the hut to take care of Rose. Finally, Alistair stopped crying and wiped the tears away from his eyes. Revan was staring ahead into the Wilds, her mind filled with the images of the horrors she had wrought.

"Are you two done sobbing like a bunch of small children?" Flemeth emerged from the hut as Morrigan snuck in. "This is no time to cry. There is a Blight going on, after all."

Alistair looked up as Revan came to. "I still have emotions, you know," she retorted. "We lost a lot of good friends in Ostagar."

Alistair began sobbing again. Revan looked empathetically at him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Flemeth knelt next to him.

"Young lad," she began, "they are gone. They aren't coming back, and your tears won't help them."

"I…I know," Alistair blinked away the tears unsuccessfully. "I just…"

"You must gather your strength, young one," Flemeth said wisely. "The trials to come will not be easy to face."

"Is anyone else alive? Is it just us two? Is Rose even alive, or was that just to keep me calm?" he asked desperately.

"Your friend is inside, recovering," Flemeth told him, repeating what Revan had told him earlier.

At that point, Rose emerged from the hut, unsteady but alive. Alistair's face brightened considerably at seeing her alive. She looked around, gathering her surroundings. Upon seeing them, Rose tottered towards them, Fuzzywuggins right by her side.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden," Flemeth pointed out obviously as she approached. "You worry too much, young man."

"So you are alive!" Alistair said thankfully. Rose looked at him, dazed. "Thank the Maker!"

"Thanks to Morrigan's mother, more like," Rose took the other chair.

"This doesn't seem real," he continued. "If it weren't for her, we'd all be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I was not here, lad," Flemeth scolded him.

Alistair looked uncomfortable. "I didn't mean…but, what do we call you? You never told us you're name."

Flemeth looked at Revan briefly before answering. "Names are pretty, but ultimately useless. They fade with time. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will do."

Rose and Alistair snapped to attention, startled. "As in, the Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right—you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

Revan snickered, but didn't say anything. "And what does that mean?" Flemeth seemed annoyed. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you all well, has it not?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Alistair looked away ashamedly.

"Then, I suppose we should thank you," Rose said politely.

"If you know what's good for you, I suppose you should!" Flemeth stated.

"Then how can we repay you?" Rose asked.

The witch laughed. "All I wish is for you to do what you are meant to do. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

Rose scowled. "Well, thanks to _Teyrn_ Loghain, the land is hardly united."

"It just doesn't make any sense!" Alistair declared. "Why would he do it?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth smiled again. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"Or perhaps he just really hates Grey Wardens," Revan commented wryly as she recalled Duncan's memories of the surly general.

"The Archdemon," Alistair responded to Flemeth, studiously ignoring Revan's underhanded comment.

Rose thought for a second. "Then I suppose it falls to us to defeat this Archdemon."

Alistair stared at her in shock. "By ourselves?" he asked, skeptically incredulous. "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of at least a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention, I don't know how!"

"How to kill the Archdemon, or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm?" Flemeth commented. "Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

"I…I don't know," Alistair responded as Flemeth waited patiently for them to figure out the answer, like a teacher over her pupils. "Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called…and Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely!"

Revan stifled a giggle at his mention, but then she remembered the gravity of the situation and sobered. It really wasn't that funny, after all.

"Perhaps we should seek his aid then," Rose suggested.

"Yes, Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men," Alistair continued, his excitement growing as he realized they had a chance after all. "And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him; he's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

Rose nodded at the idea. "Yes, and if we wanted to prevent Loghain from claiming the title of 'king', we would need all the support we could get at the Landsmeet. But, what happens if he doesn't give us any help? What then?"

Flemeth grinned toothily. "You have much more at your disposal than just old friends."

Alistair slapped his palm against his forehead. "Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from the dwarves, the elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

He and Rose seemed quite excited now. Flemeth and Revan exchanged a knowing look: youth.

"I may be old," the ancient witch began, "but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else...this sounds like an army to me."

"So, do you think we can do it? All this?" Alistair looked from Rose and Revan and back again.

Rose pondered it. "I don't see why not. Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?"

Flemeth smiled encouragingly and asked, "So, you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

The young girl looked up, new hope shining in her eyes. "Yes, I believe we are. Thank you for everything, Flemeth."

"No, no, thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I," Flemeth stated. "Now…before you go, there is one more thing I can offer you."

As if on cue, Morrigan emerged from the other side of the hut and approached them. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we be having three guests for the eve—" she looked dispassionately at Alistair, "—or none?"

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl, and you will be joining them," Flemeth told her.

"Such a shame—wait, what?" Morrigan looked at her mother, horrified.

"You heard me, girl," Flemeth laughed. "The last time I looked, you had ears!"

Rose smiled politely. "Thank you, but if she doesn't want to come with us—"

Flemeth glared at her. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Excuse me, but do I have no say in this?" Morrigan demanded.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years now," Flemeth commented. "Here's your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"You were planning this, weren't you?" Revan asked her, hidden meaning seeped in her words.

"I had the impression that you needed assistance, whatever the form," the witch glared at her.

"Not to…look a gift horse in the mouth, but…" Alistair interrupted, "won't this add to our problems? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"So am I. Maybe not technically, but the Templars don't know that I am a Grey Warden," Revan pointed out.

Alistair seemed about to retaliate, but thought better of it. "Mother," Morrigan continued, "this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—"

"You must be ready, girl. Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan," her mother told her gravely. "Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Revan caught the underlying meaning beneath the words. Flemeth didn't mean just this Blight; she meant _all_ Blights. Revan felt like she was missing some important part of the picture.

"I…understand," Morrigan relented.

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand your responsibilities?" Flemeth asked Rose and Alistair. They nodded solemnly.

"Then allow me to gather my things," Morrigan said, turning around and heading back into the hut.

The old witch grabbed Revan with her taloned hands and dragged her aside, out of earshot. "You need to tell them," Flemeth whispered in her ear.

"Tell them what?" Revan whispered back.

"The truth. About yourself. They deserve to know," she told the Jedi.

Revan scowled. "Now?"

"No," the witch said. "Wait until you are out of the Wilds. Then tell them."

Revan and Flemeth stared at each other for several more moments before returning to the others, where Morrigan was talking to the Wardens.

"…No, I'd prefer you speak your mind," they heard Rose tell Morrigan.

"Ha ha ha!" Flemeth laughed, Revan's arm still in her grasp. "You will regret saying that!"

"Dear, sweet Mother," Morrigan glared at her, "you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

"Well, I always said, if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for the next decade or two afterwards," Flemeth grinned humorously.

"I just…" Alistair turned toward Rose. "Do you really want her along because her mother says so?"

Rose raised a brow. "Flemeth had a point: we need all the help we can get."

"I…I guess you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them," he conceded.

"I am so pleased to have your approval," Morrigan stated sarcastically.

"Well, I guess we should get going then," Rose said cheerfully.

Morrigan turned back to the ancient witch. "Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth spit. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight."

Morrigan cringed guiltily. "I…all I meant was…"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth said. "Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan, her face conflicted with guilt, remorse, and anger, turned away from her mother and followed Rose and Alistair as they left the Wilds. Flemeth finally released her grasp on Revan's wrist. She waved her hands over Revan's left shoulder, chanting in an ancient tongue. A burning sensation filled her upper arm, and Revan hissed in pain.

"A parting gift," Flemeth whispered to her as she lowered her hands and handed Revan a pack, with her swords strapped across it. "So you never forget."

"How could I ever?" she responded, taking the pack before jogging to catch up with the others.

* * *

 

The trip through the Wilds was uneventful for the most part. They walked in tense silence, eager to be rid of the oppressive mists. Morrigan flitted from the party to drawing off the darkspawn that lurked in the distance. Alistair in particular seemed perturbed, and even the courageous Fuzzywuggins seemed subdued. Rose, of course, led the party. Revan followed in the back. The forest no longer disturbed her, now that she knew some of its secrets. In fact, it had a certain quality about it that made it sort of homely. She understood why Flemeth lived here.

As soon as they emerged from the Wilds, half a day's walk to the town of Lothering, they stopped to make camp. The sun was setting in the west, leaving a lingering chill over the landscape as winter approached. Morrigan brought them a few rabbits she had killed to cook. They ate in silence until Revan remembered what the witch had told her.

She sighed, reluctantly gathering her courage. "All right. I have something to confess."

The three of them looked up, surprised at the break in the silence.

"What is it, Dragonheart?" Rose asked kindly.

"First of all, my name isn't Dragonheart," Revan confessed. "It's Revan."

"Okay. Revan," she tried out the name.

"Then…" Revan exhaled and looked to the heavens. "Oh, Mythal, how to begin?"

"How about at the beginning?" Morrigan suggested.

"Ha ha, very funny," Alistair quipped.

Revan shook her head. "No, the beginning is a good place to start.

"A few years ago, when I was an impertinent youth like you three, I was also in the middle of a war. I was hunting some spies when my ship crashed in the Amaranthine Ocean, near Gwaren, and I was rendered unconscious. I had never been to Thedas before; I didn't know its people, its culture, or its history. My mind slipped into the Fade, and I encountered a…being. It offered me a deal: free it, and in return it would share its power with me. This power would make me unstoppable; it would get me out of Thedas; it would end the war in a flash. That was all I really wanted. I'm not justifying what I did, but…I agreed to free him. He gave me just enough information, including the language, to survive in Thedas. I awoke, and set out for the Deep Roads, where…where I found Urthemiel and awoke him."

Revan paused and looked up. They were staring at her in shock, even Morrigan. They stayed silent, and she continued.

"He laughed as he awoke, telling me that I had been a fool. But he would honor our agreement. He gave me…he gave me a part of his soul. He gave me the power to turn into a dragon, like him, and to do…miraculous things. But my mind couldn't take it. I snapped, and I turned into a dragon. Somehow, I flew to another land, a civilized place far from Thedas, in another star system even, and, when I had recovered, I found that I had killed everyone on the planet. Everyone. I was horrified, and I vowed never to use that power again. It was…it was the worst mistake in my life, one that I regret every day. I don't expect any of you to forgive me; I don't expect any of you to ever trust me again. But one of the reasons I became a Grey Warden was to fix my mistake. I would do anything to take it back."

Revan looked down, ashamed. She had never told anyone that, not even Carth. Through her second sight, she saw the others exchange glances. Alistair looked mortified, but he nodded when he saw Rose's expression.

"All right," she said hoarsely.

Revan raised her eye to meet the girl's, not sure if she had heard her correctly. "What?"

"Alright," Rose repeated. "You did something…horrible. Unspeakable, even. But you aren't horrible because you did it. You've been a good friend to me, to us, and you've saved us, when you could have just as well saved yourself and left us to die. I can't forgive you for it, but...we can't… _I_ can't hate you for what you've done."

"We all do stupid things," Alistair added. "Some, apparently more stupid than others, but…I agree with Rose. I don't like what you did…I mean, so many people have died…" Alistair choked up a bit, but recovered. "Duncan…Duncan trusted you. So, I'll trust you. For now."

Morrigan gave him an odd look. "She just told you that she was responsible for your friend's death. You're just going to forgive her?"

"What else am I going to do? Hand her over to the darkspawn? Oh, yes, that would help defeat the Blight," Alistair parried. "Giving Urthemiel a super-powerful weapon is just a _brilliant_ idea!"

Morrigan scowled, but said nothing.

"Can you…can you hear his thoughts?" Rose asked curiously.

Revan gazed off in the distance. "Sometimes. If I really try. It's easier, now that I'm a Warden. But, I don't like doing it. The Archdemon's mind is…different from a mortal mind."

Rose thought about this. "That could be of help. It would make it easier to anticipate his attacks."

"Doesn't that mean he can see into her mind, as well?" Morrigan wondered. Rose frowned as she thought about it.

"He can," Revan said quietly. "But he doesn't know it. And I can keep him out."

The night continued on in silence. The quiet was a vow that they wouldn't speak of the subject again, not until it was necessary. The others laid out their bedrolls and turned away from the others, leaving Revan awake and staring at the sputtering fire. She took off her leather armor on her left arm and looked at the tattoos burned on her upper arm: the top the Jedi crest, and the bottom of the griffin, the symbol of the Grey Wardens. Indeed, she would never forget; she would never let herself go back to what she had once been. She would never let herself become that evil. But, as Revan curled up on her bedroll, she couldn't help but feel the seed of darkness within her, growing as its parent, the Old God Urthemiel, grew even stronger.


	8. Act VIII

Act VIII: Lothering

They had come to the main road a little after they began walking, and had enjoyed a day of relatively easy travel. Alistair had been eerily quiet, but Morrigan was talkative, and kept pestering Revan about her previous life, the life she had led before coming to Thedas. Rose, also curious, listened in. Judging by the sun, it was about noon when they finally reached Lothering. In front of them were mounds and mounds of carts, boxes, and wooden frames, abandoned by refugees. Images of refugees from Revan's past filled her mind, but she banished them as bandits emerged from the rubble. She scowled and wished that Rose would let her kill them, but the girl had too much compassion. She would wait to see what the bandits would do.

Rose stopped as the bandit leader stepped from the debris. She crossed her arms as he appraised her.

"Wake up, gentlemen!" he called to the rest of his band. "More travelers to attend to! I'll guess the pretty one is the leader." Rose scowled at the comment.

"Err…they don't look much like them others, you know," a large bandit leaned over to their charismatic leader. "Uh…maybe we should just let these ones pass…"

"Nonsense!" The bandit leader turned to Rose and smiled broadly. "Greetings, travelers!"

"Highwaymen," Alistair commented in a low voice. "Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."

"They are fools to get in our way. I say teach them a lesson," Morrigan suggested.

The bandit leader grinned at Morrigan. "Now, is that any way to greet someone? Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on."

"How about you let us pass for free?" Rose suggested.

Revan stepped up to stand next to the girl and crossed her arms. "Your friend is right: we're not refugees."

"What did I tell you?" the simple bandit told the leader. "No wagons, and this one looks armed."

"The toll applies to everyone, Hanric," the leader explained. "That's why it's a toll and not, say, a refugee tax."

"Oh, right," Hanric nodded. "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay."

The Jedi sighed, but waited for Rose to decide what to do. Rose smiled; she was going to toy with this man, much like a cat plays with a mouse before killing it.

"Oh, so you're toll collectors, then?" she asked.

"Indeed!" the leader proclaimed. "For the upkeep of the Imperial Highway! It's a bit of a mess, isn't it?"

"Perhaps you should charge more, then," Rose suggested.

The leader raised a brow. "You want to pay more? Well, we'll happily accept donations."

Revan heard the dull thud as Morrigan slapped her own forehead in exasperation. "I'm just saying it's a rough business for such a pittance," Rose continued.

"I could be mistaken, but that sounded threatening," the bandit leader commented.

"Sounded like a threat to me," Hanric agreed.

"That's because it was," Rose stared at the leader.

"Well I can't say I'm pleased to hear that. We have rules, you know," the leader told her.

"Right," Hanric added. "We get to ransack your corpses, then. Those are the rules."

Revan smiled sadistically. Rose grabbed the pommel of her sword in preparation. "You can certainly try," she told them.

"Well, this is getting nowhere. Let's finish them, gents!" the leader shouted before charging at Rose.

Revan drew her blades and proceeded to attack the large Hanric. For all his size, he relied too much on his strength to intimidate those he was attacking. Revan cut him down with ease after dodging his first blow that had been designed to crush in her skull. She then moved on to the nearby archers. They tried shooting at her, but she nimbly dodged their arrows, the Force alerting her seconds before they whizzed by her head. A loud surrender stopped the fighting as the leader held up his hands in parley, the point of Rose's sword held at his throat.

"All right! We surrender!" he conceded. "We—we were just trying to get by, before the darkspawn us all!"

Rose narrowed her eyes. "You picked the wrong target."

"Yes! Yes! Of—of course! We should've been more careful. I'm…sorry."

Rose didn't like this answer. She put the blade closer to his throat. "You should be saying sorry to all the people who you stole from, bastard." He gulped audibly, knowing that he probably wasn't going to survive the encounter. "Now, I have a few questions you're going to answer."

"What could I tell you? We aren't even from these parts—"

She put the edge of the blade across his jugular, causing his eyes to widen in fear. "Have you heard of any survivors from the battle at Ostagar?" she asked.

He took a moment before answering, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple. "Couple, maybe. A group of wounded ash warriors came by earlier…got right out of their way."

"What other news is there?" she inquired.

"Well, everyone's saying how the Grey Wardens betrayed the king during the darkspawn fight," he said quickly. "Got him and themselves killed. Teyrn Loghain pulled out just in time, it seems. First thing he's doing as regent is putting a bounty on Grey Wardens."

Rose, Revan, and Alistair exchanged a worried look. "Okay," Rose finally said.

"Well, then, let me go!" the leader demanded.

Rose smiled, calculating. "You'll follow my lead. I could use some soldiers."

"You're…you're joking, right?" the leader looked at her in horror. "I could never be a soldier!"

"You're a fool if you think I'm letting you leave here to go somewhere else and steal from more innocent people," Rose told him.

"I'm not going down without a fight!" the leader said bravely before trying to pull away and attack. Rose, however, swept her sword in an arc and decapitated him before he could move. Revan turned and finished off the remaining attackers with ease.

Rose wiped her blade off on the dead leader's cuirass before checking his belongings. They walked further down the highway and came to the steps down to Lothering. Alistair stopped at the railing and looked over the town, with its shanty buildings and sprawling refugee camp.

"Ah, Lothering. Pretty as a picture," he commented.

They looked at him strangely. Those were the first words he had said to them in days that hadn't sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

"So, you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?" Morrigan mocked him.

"Is my being upset so hard to understand?" Alistair asked. "Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

Alistair stared at her, disturbed. "Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."

Rose looked concernedly at the young Warden. "You have been very quiet, you know."

"Yes, I know," he said seriously. "I was just…I was thinking."

"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan commented. Revan elbowed her in the ribs, silently telling her to shut up.

"Oh, I get it," Alistair responded. "This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."

"I can be friendly when I desire to," Morrigan retaliated. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not—"

" _Enough!_ " Revan yelled, silencing both of them. "You two can kill each other after the Blight is over, okay? Now, Alistair, what is it you wanted to say?"

They looked at her oddly for a moment. Then, Alistair continued, "I was…just thinking that we should talk about where we intended to go first."

"All right," Rose said. "And what do you think?"

"This should be good," Morrigan remarked before quieting under Revan's withering glare.

"I think," Alistair ignored her, looking instead at Rose, "what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties…have you looked at them?"

Rose's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The treaties that—"

"Yes, the ones that talk about the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and Circle of Magi, I remember," Rose interrupted. "But what about them?"

"Well, we could use them to get assistance, even raise an army," Alistair commented. "I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first."

"Yes…and he still has his troops at his disposal," Revan pondered.

Rose looked at them all in distress, and Fuzzywuggins whined in response. "Why are you all leaving it up to me?"

Revan smiled at her. "You know more than I do about Thedas and its politics, yes? I'm just good at fighting and leading armies, but I've never been much good at raising armies. The soldiers were already there, or they joined out of conviction. And in terms of politics…I made a lot of bold, hasty choices, and most of them were less than appealing to most of the politicians, including my masters."

"And I don't know where we should go," Alistair added. "I'll do whatever you decide."

"Now that is unsurprising," Morrigan commented.

Studiously ignoring her, he continued, "Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure he's where we should go. I'm not going to fight about it."

Rose looked like she wanted to say something, but she refrained. "And you, Morrigan? What do you think we should do?"

"Go after your enemy directly," Morrigan smiled as she told them her opinion in a clean, surgical way. "Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety."

"Yes, he certainly wouldn't see that coming!" the young Warden said sarcastically. "And it's not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and—"

"I was asked for my opinion and I gave it," Morrigan cut him off. "If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us."

Rose scowled and turned to the Jedi, who was watching the banter with annoyance. "Revan? What is your opinion?"

Revan was startled that her opinion was wanted. "Well…right now, we need supplies and news. I can handle recruiting the Dalish, but the other groups…it might be useful to have the experience of someone who has dealt with them before. And it might be nice to have somewhere to fall back to, to recuperate, in case something…happens. However, I don't think we should go after Loghain quite yet. He will need to be taken care of, but I am curious as to what he will do. He might even make it easier for us, ultimately."

Rose listened intently to her opinion. "That sounds like a good idea."

"So, you have a plan?" Alistair asked hopefully.

"Not a very good one. I don't like this at all," Rose said, a new note of tiredness in her voice.

"I don't like any of this, either," he said sympathetically, "but we don't have a lot of choice in the matter."

"Of course you have a choice," Morrigan remarked. "You could run and forget about it all. Let the darkspawn do as they wish until other Grey Wardens come. If they come."

"You call that a choice?" he asked.

"It may not be a good choice, but it's a choice nevertheless. We all choose our path, even when it seems there is only one direction we should go," Morrigan sagely said.

"How…enlightening," Alistair taunted. "At any rate, I'll stay with you, Rose, whatever you decide."

Rose looked distressed, but nodded in understanding anyway. She headed down the ramp, into the depressing town of Lothering, followed by the rest of the party. She headed toward an idle farmer north of the refugees, but Revan was more interested in the poor souls that wandered the refugee camp. Children ran about in little more than rags, and sickly women attempted to hang what was left of their laundry on communal washing lines. Men wandered aimlessly, not knowing what to do or how to continue on. A small child sat in the dirt and cried, his tear-stained cheeks the cleanest part of his body. Revan walked over to him and picked a nearby weed, its small flower barely open. Revan crouched down in the dirt next to the child and, while showing him the tiny flower, used magic to make the flower grow larger into a magnificent bloom. The child immediately stopped crying to watch her magic. She handed the child the enchanted flower, but not before enchanting it to never wilt. The small child smiled with delight as he took it, and Revan returned to Rose feeling slightly better.

Rose gave her an odd look, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she walked more toward the center of town. A Templar stood in the path, looking for recently arrived refugees. He did not seem happy at all. Rose stopped, realizing that perhaps two apostates wouldn't be good to have this close to a hotbed of agitated Templars.

"Revan, Morrigan—perhaps you two should check out the rest of the town," she suggested. "Alistair and I have…some business in the Chantry."

"And how will you find us when you are done with this…business?" Morrigan asked.

Rose absently pat Fuzzywuggins' head. "Meet us in the tavern, I guess."

"'You guess'?" the Jedi repeated. "You are commanding everything now. Don't say 'I guess': that implies you are unsure. Your troops will lose faith in your abilities, and your subordinates will question your orders. Now, try again."

"Yes, sir," she heard Alistair mutter under his breath.

Rose was taken aback. "Okay; meet us at the tavern."

"Better," Revan told her. "Then we will meet you in the tavern."

Morrigan, with a surprised look on her face, followed Revan as they surreptitiously skirted the Templar as Rose and Alistair approached him. They had no problem avoiding him, and the other refugees that littered the town ignored them, too terrorized by their own problems to notice two women in strange clothes wandering among them. Revan wished she could have her swords, which were strapped to her back, in her hands. Their touch often reassured her.

They came to a bridge that crossed a small stream, with a small boy sitting at its base. He stood up at their approach, his face dirty but not as unclean as those of the refugees.

"Have you seen my mother?" the little boy asked them hopefully.

"Well, who is your mother?" Revan asked before Morrigan could make a snide comment.

"She's really tall…and she has red hair," he told them. "We live on a farm, all of us. Some mean men with swords came, and mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did! She said she would be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!"

Revan exchanged a worried glance with Morrigan, who shrugged with a wild apathy. Of course, Morrigan had grown up seeing chicks who had fallen out of their nest die by one accidental mishap, so she had little sympathy for the forsaken boy.

"Do you know where your father is?" Revan asked, wishing for some happy solution.

The boy tilted his head in thought. "He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday, but he didn't come back."

Revan bit her lower lip, conflicted, before asking, "Do you want to come with us? We could help you look for your mother."

The child shook his head. "Mother said I wasn't to go with anyone. I'm supposed to wait for her here in the village."

"Good lad, doing what you're told," Revan gave him a pat on the shoulder. She unslung her pack and dug around for the few coins she had discovered in there. She took out a silver and handed it to the boy. "Take this. Go to the Chantry; someone will look after you. Until your mother comes."

"I will," the boy said, taking the coin. "But only if I don't find Mother first. You're a really nice lady. Kind of like Mother. I should go look for her." The boy stood up and walked away, looking for a tall woman with red hair. Revan straightened and watched him go.

"She's dead, you know," Morrigan said once he was gone.

"I know," Revan said wistfully. "I couldn't bring myself to tell him that."

"You should have," she argued. "He needs to learn the harsh realities of the world around him."

Revan waited before responding. "There will be plenty of time for him to learn that later. But there will be few opportunities for him to learn of kindness and compassion. Now, let's go; it is pointless arguing about this, yes?"

They continued into town, where even more refugees were gathering in groups, clustered around an old woman and the entrance to a lone, wooden structure, which Revan assumed was the tavern. The woman was ordering people about, and seemed generally flustered and overwhelmed. The refugees, it appeared, were not making her life any easier. She heard the woman cough as people began arguing.

"Would you be upset if we tried to help her?" the Jedi asked Morrigan, gesturing to the old woman.

"The village leader? And why would you want to help her?"

"She seems to need help with the refugees and whatnot," Revan pointed out.

Morrigan scowled. "And what good would that accomplish?"

"We might actually be helping people survive, if we help."

"They are all going to perish under the Blight, anyway," Morrigan growled, but otherwise did not complain.

They walked over to the village leader, the witch trailing behind Revan. The woman was giving orders to the others around her, trying to keep order. She noticed them, and a look of profound weariness crossed her face.

"You got a bed for the night?" she inquired. "You been taken care of?" She broke into a fit of coughing, which made Revan grimace in pity. This woman had driven herself to Death's door.

"I…we were actually wondering if we could help you," Revan offered.

The woman looked at them shrewdly. "Don't need blades right now. We need beds, food, and an end to all these sad sots. I don't suppose you know anything of tonics, medicines, or herbs?"

Revan smiled as she recounted all of her training from Marethari. "I do, in fact."

"Then you may be able to do us a lot of good," the woman looked relieved. "All manner of travelers come through, many injured or sick. We do our best, but we're out of supplies. There's medicinal herbs in the woods to the north. If you make a few poultices, I'll scrape together some sort of payment. Here, I'll write out everything we need."

The woman jotted down a few things on a note and handed them to Revan. They were basic poultices, ones that Morrigan said she knew, too, which would make the job easier. They agreed to split up and look for herbs outside the village and to meet back in an hour at that same spot. Morrigan headed north, and Revan northeast, more toward the farmland of the area. The area was dotted with many plants, some Revan recognized as useful, such as elfroot, but others were just bizarre weeds. She wished she had trained with Marethari for longer. She plucked the leaves from those that she knew, storing them in her pack. Luckily, the day was nice, and it was easy-going. The breeze lightly ruffled her long, bound raven hair and reminded her of how far she had come from her militaristic self of just a year ago, when her hair had been cropped short. How quickly she had changed when technology had been stripped away. In fact, Revan couldn't remember the last time she had looked in a mirror. Just how much had she changed, she wondered?

She was kneeling down, carving off the leaves of a rather tall elfroot plant in the middle of a field when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see a gray-haired woman, clad in simple garments with laugh lines carved around her eyes and mouth, but with contrasting worry lines creasing her forehead. Her icy blue eyes were strangely intelligent, like a hawk's. She seemed at most in her fifties, but she looked as if she had seen things that Revan could only guess at. She smiled in a motherly-like way at the startled Jedi.

"You do realize that this is my property?" she asked.

Revan felt the color rise in her cheeks. "I…I'm so sorry. I…I wasn't thinking. Please, let me…um…I have some silvers…I know it's not much, but—"

The woman broke out into a smile, cutting her off. "What did you want with the elfroot, dear?"

"Poultices," Revan answered honestly. "For the village leader in town."

She contemplated this. "So, you were gathering herbs for the purely selfless reason of helping those poor souls in town?"

"Uh…I want to say yes…" Revan replied.

"But?"

"I…I feel like I have to help them," Revan said, making her reason as honest as possible without blurting out that she started the Blight.

"Fair enough," the woman said. "Come with me."

"What?" Revan asked, startled.

"You need elfroot; we have plenty at our house," she said as she walked away. "My children have a…fascination with things that have special properties."

* * *

 

Her home was a quaint but neat farmhouse, square with two floors. Its wooden exterior was whitewashed, and it even had windows. Revan could tell a lot of love and time had gone into that house. The gardens and hedges surrounding it were well-tended and green, despite the season. A dog, a Mabari similar in coloring to Fuzzywuggins, lay outside, watching for visitors. He gave one sharp bark at their arrival, but lay back down once he realized it was his master.

They went in through a back door, which led to a small laundry room with a basin and baskets filling the corners. The woman walked through the doorway into the main house, which was filled with sunlight. Revan stopped at the door; she had never been in a place that was so…comforting. She had never actually had a home before.

"Garrett!" the woman called as she headed further in the house.

"Yes, Mother?" a strong, male voice called from somewhere.

"Where do you and Bethany put the elfroot?"

"Where we always put it; in the cellar." A strapping young man emerged from another room, a white powder dusting his simple clothes. He had a strong, angular jaw and sharp features, with the same piercing intellect shinning in his brown eyes. His black hair was combed neatly, with his bangs swept across his brow, and he had tidily trimmed facial hair. Upon seeing her, he smiled broadly, which made Revan unconsciously grin back. She caught herself, however, before she began beaming. Rarely had she come across a person that could so easily sway her mood.

The woman—his mother—went through another door and disappeared as the darkness of the cellar enveloped her. The young man turned to her, smiling with charisma.

"I'm—" he stuck out his hand in greeting before realizing it was covered in the white powder. He looked at it for a second, then wiped it on his pants awkwardly. "—Garrett Hawke."

This made Revan smile in genuine amusement. "A…pleasure, Sera Hawke, to make your acquaintance."

He chuckled to himself. "And a pleasure to make yours, miss…?"

"Revan," she said politely. It probably wasn't a good idea to go around now claiming she was the Grey Warden Dragonheart.

"Revan," he repeated. "Are you fleeing the darkspawn, then?"

"Not…not really," Revan managed. "It's complicated. But why aren't you and your family fleeing? The darkspawn are almost in Lothering."

"It's complicated," he responded. Frowning in concentration, which gave him the look of a puppy, he examined her clothes. "So you're…an adventurer? You certainly don't look like a refugee, or a warrior."

"You mean she doesn't look like Carver," a female voice joined the conversation. A young woman, with delicately curling black hair and bright blue eyes, said from her spot on a window sill as she looked out at the entrance. "But that doesn't mean she isn't a warrior."

"You're right, Bethany. But, I suppose not looking like Carver is a good thing," he joked.

"That's not funny," Bethany pointed out. "He hasn't come back yet, and it's been days! What if—"

"Carver's a survivor, sis," Garrett reassured her. "He'll be fine. Remember, he _looks_ like a warrior. The darkspawn wouldn't dare attack him! He's too fashionable!"

Bethany cracked a small smile, but it quickly faded. "But all the survivors of the battle have already come through."

"The battle? You mean Ostagar?" Revan asked gravely.

Garrett tilted his head. "You were there?"

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "I was there."

"Perhaps you met him, then," Garrett continued. "A small, buff fellow with no sense of humor and an equivalent sense of taste. I believe he was with the main force of the King's army."

"What do you mean, 'an equivalent sense of taste'?" Revan asked curiously.

"He—he doesn't like my cooking!" he answered indignantly, his voice rising in pitch slightly.

"Well, even if he doesn't like your cooking, brother dear," Bethany said sweetly, "I still do."

Garrett smiled fondly at her. Their mother returned and opened the cellar door again, bearing an armful of elfroot. She handed the bundle to Revan with a small smile.

"Here you go, dear. I hope this is enough," she said kindly.

"Thank you so much," Revan said. "I wish there was some way to repay you for your kindness."

Garrett's face brightened with sudden insight. "Stay for dinner!" he suggested. "I'm making an Orlesian soufflé for dessert!"

"Yes, you should stay," his mother agreed. "We don't get many visitors out here."

"That would be wonderful!" Bethany echoed her brother.

Revan gave them a sad smile. "Sadly, I believe my friends and I are…leaving soon. I probably need to get back to them."

Garrett pouted. "Well, that's depressing. You're going to miss out."

Revan opened her mouth to reply, but the dog beat her to it. Bethany twisted and looked out the window.

"Carver!" she exclaimed. "He's coming!"

Their mother straightened in surprise and, without another word, rushed to the front door to greet her son. Bethany was right behind her. Garrett followed them with his eyes, but did not move. He gave Revan a wistful look.

"Well, have a safe journey, wherever you're going," he told her. "And…may the Maker watch over your path. Isn't that what the Chantry says?"

Revan gave him another brief, sad smile. "And may Mythal…no, you know what? May the Force be with you, Sera Hawke."

He seemed a bit taken aback by this, unsure how to respond. "And…may the Force be with you, Revan?"

She crossed her arms and bowed slightly before leaving through the back door. Even as she exited the house, she could hear the joyous sounds as the Hawke family was reunited. Their mother seemed the most excited at the return of her son, but she could hear the indistinct, low sound of Garrett's voice as he welcomed his brother home. She peeked around the corner to catch a glimpse of them. They were surrounding a young man, who had shorter black hair and a baby-like face, but the family resemblance was quite clear. He was awkwardly smiling, happy but probably traumatized from his experience in Ostagar. She stopped and stared at the family, and a horrible sense of loneliness crept over her being. Revan, envious of their close ties, sentimentally recalled her days of camaraderie aboard the _Ebon Hawk_ , but she knew that the feeling of family was far different from the ties of friendship. She would've given anything to have the closeness that the Hawke family shared.

Revan stole back to the village, creeping through the fields. She desired no more meetings to inspire her sentimental regrets. However, coming back into the village from the north, she noticed a cage that contained a…person. Revan stopped and stared in confusion. The person, even at a distance, did not seem to be a normal person. Curious, Revan approached the cage. The person was not a normal person at all. He was far taller and larger than a human, and he had a chalky skin complexion. His hair was a grayish white, and his eyes were red, like an albino's. He looked strong enough to crush in a man's head with his huge hands the size of plates. However, despite his obvious ability to break free, the being stood docilely in the cage, as if he was ready to meet whatever fate doled out to him.

As she neared, he looked up and noticed her. He looked weakened, but he bore himself with dignity and scowled at her. "You are not one of my captors," he observed. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."

"Would you at least tell me who would put one such as yourself in a cage?" Revan inquired.

The being's frown deepened. "I've been placed here by the Chantry, if you must know.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard, of the Qunari peoples."

Revan crossed her arms and bowed. "And I am Revan. Pleased to meet you, Sten."

His frown deepened even more. "You mock me. Either that, or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands."

Revan smiled sadly. "They are as much my lands as they are yours. I, too, am a stranger here."

Sten raised a brow. "However, such things matter little now. I will die soon enough. I suggest you leave me to my fate."

"Well, at least tell me how you came to be here."

"Here, in this cage?" Sten clarified. "I was convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?"

"They are too concerned with the Blight to speak of such things," Revan answered. "Who did you murder?"

"The people of a farmhold. Eight humans, in addition to the children," he answered clinically. It was as if he had just decided that his actions had happened, and he would have to live with the consequences. She admired his directness. He did not care if she judged him or not.

"It must have been difficult capturing you, yes?" she asked, accepting his crime as an unchangeable fact, just how her party had accepted her crimes.

"There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders," he answered. Regret tinged his voice, but whether it was from the crime or the surrender, she wasn't sure.

"So, you didn't resist?"

"I waited several days until the knights arrived."

"Why?" Revan asked, not curiously, but in an academic way. His answer would factor greatly in her thoughts.

"Because I wished to," he responded honestly.

She pouted. "How…odd."

"Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret," he responded.

Revan nodded as her mind worked. "I regret much. More than you, probably. But, I wanted to know."

"Why?" the Qunari asked.

Revan smiled. "Because I have a proposition for you. Are you interested in seeking atonement?"

"My death shall be my atonement," Sten said.

Revan frowned. "That is…romantically noble. And incredibly unpractical."

He bobbed his head in silent agreement. "Then what does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"The punishment for my crime is to battle the Blight," she told him, ignoring his sarcastic nuance. "I would think that that would be sufficient."

"The Blight?" the Qunari questioned. "Are you a…Grey Warden, then?"

"Yes, in fact," she told him.

"Surprising," he commented. "My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill…though I suppose not every legend is true."

"You'd be surprised," Revan smiled. "So…do you think the reverend mother would let you free?"

"Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

Revan thought about this. "I'll see what I can do," she told him.

Revan returned to the meeting spot, where Morrigan was waiting impatiently. With a dissatisfied look at the Jedi, Morrigan began helping her mix the poultices. Soon, they had enough poultices for the village leader, who was very grateful for their assistance. Revan smiled in resignation as Morrigan pocketed the money she offered them. They then wordlessly headed to the tavern. Several men burst through the door, seemingly running for the lives. She recognized their armor as belonging to the imperial army, and thus to Loghain. Revan glared at them venomously, and they scurried away in haste and fear. Fuzzywuggins, who was standing by the door on guard duty, barked happily at their arrival before returning to his duties.

Inside the tavern, a small, two-story building filled with squalid bodies vainly trying to drown their worries in alcohol, they saw Rose, Alistair, and a small woman dressed in Chantry robes seated in the corner, a wide berth between them and the rest of the crowd. Revan noticed that there were a few blood splatters on the floor, and they looked fresh. Revan looked at Rose in exasperation.

"So, you noticed that we had a little brawl?" she asked upon seeing Revan's incriminating look.

"I'm assuming it was with those army blokes?" the Jedi gestured to the door.

"Yes," Rose said soberly. "Loghain is serious about this bounty. He really does want us dead. But I have to wonder, why? Does he see us as a threat?"

Revan shrugged, not willing to divulge secrets that were not hers. "So, you picked up a new…priestess?"

The ginger woman smiled at her. "I am Leliana, former Sister of the Chantry. I…want to help stop the Blight." Her accent was curious, because it was definitely _not_ Ferelden. She drew out her words in a very sensual-sounding way, and her consonants were very soft, almost flowing.

"You are from…?"

"Orlais," the Sister said with a beaming, irritating smile.

Revan nodded, then turned back to Rose. "So, what's the plan?"

Rose thought for a second. "I have a bit more business to attend to, and then we can leave. You can come with me, if you want…"

"No," Revan said forcefully. "I, too, have other things to attend to."

Rose nodded and stood, along with Alistair. Leliana got up awkwardly, not sure what to do. Rose laid a few silvers on the table and headed for the door as the rest of the party, except Revan, followed her. Revan, however, grabbed Leliana's arm as she was leaving. The Orlesian girl stopped and grimaced in discomfort.

"What is it?" she demanded.

Revan glared at her in distaste. She already didn't like the girl. There was something…slimy about her. She reminded Revan of the Sith apprentices she had encountered on Korriban. "I need your…assistance. With a matter concerning the Chantry."

Leliana's brow rose. "What about the Chantry?"

"You know the Qunari prisoner on the northern outskirts of town?" Leliana nodded in assent. "I want to free him."

"What? That is madness! He is a murderer!" Leliana exclaimed.

"So am I," Revan growled. "And you will be soon enough, Sister. Fighting a Blight in the midst of a civil war will not be as glorified as the stories would make it sound."

Leliana scowled in displeasure and yanked her arm away. "Fine. I will help you. I just hope I don't regret this."

"You won't be the one paying the price," the Jedi hissed as she headed towards the door.

Lothering's chantry was easily the largest structure in the small town. It was enclosed in the front by a wooden wall, and many Templars and peasants were mingling outside, the Templars silent and staid. The peasants were whispering and some praying. Inside was not much better. Refugees lined the pews, and Templars were busily bustling about as they made preparations against the approaching horde. If it hadn't had an impending sense of doom settling inside it, the Chantry would have been a perfect refuge for any seeking salvation or peace or, as Revan assumed, some quiet. She followed Leliana towards the back of the Chantry, to a study hidden in the corner, near the shrine overshadowed by a statue in the supposed likeness of Andraste. A gray-haired woman, younger than the village leader by several years, was reading a book with an intense frown. A nearby Templar stood guard, protecting the Reverend Mother from any potential harm, though what harm could come to a priest in her own temple was beyond Revan's comprehension.

The Reverend Mother looked up at their approach. "Good day, Sister Leliana," she said serenely, as if a Blight were not occurring. "I'm surprised to see you're still in Lothering."

Leliana smiled uncomfortably. "It is good to see you as well, your Reverence."

She acknowledged the comment with a dip of her holy head before turning her attention to Revan, who was pouting with displeasure. "I do not recognize your companion, Sister. Greetings. Will you be making a donation to the Chantry today? Our need has never been greater."

Revan bit her lower lip in annoyance as she noticed the gold pendant hanging from the Reverend Mother's neck and the mounds of precious books piled haphazardly around the study. "I'm afraid I cannot. However, there is something that I wished to discuss with you, your _Reverence_."

"And what is it that you so desperately need to talk to me about?"

"Sten, the Qunari that you have imprisoned," Revan crossed her arms.

The Reverend Mother stood up from her chair and took a threatening step towards her. "It might have been kinder to execute him," she admitted, "but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why is he of interest to you? Surely one such as you has…other business?"

Revan's eyes narrowed. "I want him released."

The woman's eyes widened in response. "Released? Then his next victims might include you and me."

"He's not a monster," Revan defended him. "He made a mistake. A terrible one, but he regrets it. I thought the Chantry was supposed to forgive people for their sins, or something."

The priest didn't like this recrimination. "He has not accepted the Chant of Light; he still believes in his heathen ways."

"So, only those that convert to your religion can receive salvation? How convenient."

The Reverend Mother clenched her fists, but she managed to control herself. Calmly, she responded, "He is a murderer who has not repented for his crimes. Only the Maker can save him now. Unless you have a different alternative…"

"I do, in fact," Revan responded. "He can help end the Blight, instead of being killed by it."

The priest looked to Leliana. "Sister, you know your…acquaintance better than I do. What do you think? Can the Qunari really help end the Blight?"

Leliana looked from Revan to the mother and back, caught between their opposing convictions. "I…yes, he can help."

"And this…woman…is fighting the Blight as well?"

"Yes," Leliana admitted painfully. "She is."

The Reverend Mother frowned, but dug in the pockets of her robe and brought out a ring of iron keys. She handed the ring to Leliana. "Were things not so desperate…very well. Here: these will open the cage." Through gritted teeth, the priest added, "And may the Maker watch over you."

Revan bowed stiffly, not bothering to cross her arms and barely making an effort to conceal her distaste before turning on her heel and marching away with a stiff back. She disliked the Chantry, and she could tell that it would hate her, especially if it knew that she was both an apostate and a Dalish. As they left, Revan glanced back up at the likeness of Andraste and realized that the woman looking kindly down at them had been a battle-hardened warrior, mage, and elf-sympathizer. How had things changed so rapidly? Revan wondered what the prophetess would think about Thedas now, centuries after she had been killed.

The Jedi retrieved the keys from a silently compliant Leliana and returned to Sten's cage. He looked surprised.

"I did not expect you to return," he stated.

"I keep my promises," she said as she fitted the key into the padlock and twisted in violently until the tumblers clicked. "There; you are free."

Sten appeared baffled. "That is it?"

"Well, I mean, you can come with us," Revan shrugged, "but I can't really _make_ you do anything. It is, ultimately, up to you."

The Qunari pondered this. "You did just set me free. I suppose I owe you some debt of gratitude."

Revan smiled sadly and shook her head. "No, the Sister Leliana is the one you should thank. Without her, the Reverend Mother would never have given me the keys."

"Do not place credit where it is not due," Sten stated. "But, whatever the case may be, the reason I was in Ferelden in the first place was to investigate the Blight. Apparently, it is much worse than I first anticipated. I am, I guess, obligated to help, since you seem…incapable of taking care of it yourself."

Revan chortled. "'Incapable'…I'm not 'incapable'. Or, at least, my other companions aren't. But, it will be nice to have someone else who has seen more combat than the average soldier. So, welcome aboard, Sten. Now, we have to find Rose."

"Rose?" he asked, stepping out of the cage hesitantly.

"She is the leader of our little party," Revan told him. She handed him a hunk of bread from her pack as she realized that he probably had not been given food in his imprisonment.

"I thought you were," he said.

Revan chuckled. "I've led enough hopeless missions against a vastly superior force and overwhelming odds to know that I don't want to do it again. I leave it to the youth now."

"Because you lost those campaigns?" Sten asked indignantly as they began walking toward where Revan assumed Rose would be.

"Because I won them," she replied. "I hate the attention that comes afterward. Everyone expects me to solve all their problems."

Sten lapsed into silence, apparently stunned by her rebuttal. However, what she had said was true. The public had adored her after the Mandalorian Wars, at least before she became Darth Revan. And, after she had redeemed herself in its eyes by defeating Malak and destroying the Star Forge, the public barely left her alone. Every other day, it had seemed, the Senate had called her up for her opinion on some paltry matter, or the Jedi Council reluctantly requested her presence at some ceremony or another.

Indeed, Rose and the rest of the party were waiting for them. Rose raised an eyebrow at the approach of the Qunari, but she didn't say anything. Revan assumed that Leliana had told her all about how Revan had manipulated her into convincing the Reverend Mother to release him. She stood nearby, at Rose's shoulder, frowning in agitation at Revan. The Jedi found her displeasure rather funny, especially since Morrigan was making a disgusted face at her behind her back. Alistair, meanwhile, seemed justly apprehensive.

"Are you sure releasing him was a good idea?" he asked Revan as he cast the intimidating Qunari a timid glance.

"Are you sure making me a Warden was a good idea?" she retorted. He drew back, reprimanded.

They departed for the Imperial Highway, their business in Lothering concluded. Revan felt bad that they could do nothing more for the villagers, such as defending the village, but they were too few in number. Rose fell back to where Revan was and gave the Jedi a stern look.

"What?" she asked.

Rose looked back at the sullen Qunari that was mere paces behind Revan. "Alistair has a good point: are you sure releasing him was a good idea? He did, after all, murder eight families."

"And I murdered many more than that," Revan pointed out.

"But you are human, and you feel regret," Rose's voice dropped lower.

Revan scowled. "He might not exactly be human, but he feels regret just like the rest of us. He told me as much."

"A trick?" the young girl suggested.

"No; I can tell when someone lies. He regrets. It is why he did not escape from his cage earlier."

Rose bit her lip in thought. "Do you trust him?"

"Yes," Revan told her.

"All right. I trust you, Revan. If you trust him, I will, too."


	9. Act IX

Act IX: Imperial Highway to Redcliffe

The trek along the Imperial Highway was long and boring. All the refugees had fled long before. Revan shaded her eyes and looked up at the bright sky. Nothing. Not a whisper of wind. It was as if the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Revan wished desperately for a pair of polarized lenses. And maybe a personal cooling unit. Despite it being early fall, she was burning up, especially since she had to walk in the thick leathers that Flemeth had given her. And she also wished for some of the dehydrated, tasteless cubes the military used to serve. What were they called? Revan couldn't recall their name. The sun had evaporated her memories as well as her water supply.

Very quickly, she bored of looking at the cloudless sky. She dropped back to where Alistair was moping. At first, he didn't notice her presence, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. When he did finally look up though, he jumped in surprise, looking much like a startled cat. Revan heard Morrigan snicker softly behind them.

"Revan! What—"

"So tell me, Alistair, what happens when we reach Redcliffe?"

The youth gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

She cocked her head to the side, and again asked, "What will happen, do you think?"

"What else? We'll see Arl Eamon and hope he believes us," he answered simply.

Revan shook her head and muttered, "Tsk tsk tsk. Don't you remember? Arl Eamon is sick. He probably won't be able to see us."

"Thanks for reminding me," Alistair grimaced.

"So? What then?"

"Well…" Alistair scratched his head, "I guess we could try talking to his steward. Or maybe to his brother, Bann Teagan, if he's around."

"And this Bann Teagan? How will you make him believe us?"

Alistair squinted in bemusement. "I don't think I understand the context of the question. Could you please restate it so my simpleton mind can understand?"

Revan glanced heavenward. Alistair was being impossible.

"Alright! Alright!" Alistair responded upon seeing her distressed face. "Uh…let's see here…we make him?"

Revan lightly slapped her own forehead in exasperation. "And how would you do that?"

He shrugged. They walked for a moment more in silence as Revan tried to figure out a way to make him think.

"Okay," she began, "think about it like this. Arl Eamon wants to trust you, but all the intelligence he has received points to us having betrayed the king. How would you disprove this?"

Alistair bowed his head in thought. "I…" He thought some more. "I guess I would try and convince him to believe me, since, after all, he did help raise me. And he wouldn't believe that I could kill my—" he stopped abruptly, realizing what he was about to say.

"Your brother," Revan finished for him, "Cailan."

He stared at her in shock. How could he know that she knew his most personal secrets because of Duncan? Because of him, she probably knew more about Alistair's past than he did.

"Well, I suppose that might be the best way to go about convincing him, considering that we have no proof to the contrary," Revan continued, blatantly ignoring the unanswered question of how she knew his heritage. "But how would you go about convincing a noble who you have never met?"

"Why do you even care?" he asked in frustration. "You'd be better off asking Rose these questions."

Revan pursed her lips. "Because I would like to hear your thoughts."

Slowly, painfully, she managed to coax an answer out of him. It wasn't the best answer, Revan had to admit, but at least it was a start. She then carefully laid out a suggestion, and, though he knew she was leading him, he figured out what the best answer was. Then she asked another question. Thus, the cycle began again as she tried to engage his brain in politics. He was not an easy pupil, as he often got lazy and gave her stupid answers instead of thinking out the solution. But he was bright.

Finally, after an hour or so of theoreticals, he threw his hands up in the air in maddened surrender. "I give up!" he cried. "Why are you asking me these impossible questions? I don't _know_!"

"She is training you," the deep voice of the big Qunari spoke from behind them. Alistair jumped in surprise: for being so big, Sten was quite stealthy. "She knows you do not know. That is why she is giving you hints to the correct answers."

Revan nodded her head in appreciation of the Qunari's observation. Alistair gave him yet another bewildered expression before turning back to Revan.

"You're _training_ me?" he accused her. "Why in the name of Andraste would you do that?"

She smiled coyly before replying, "Because…"

His eyes widened as he realized what she was implying, but, even as he was about to respond, he changed his mind. She could tell he didn't want to talk about it. At all. He was probably tired of being treated differently because of his heritage. Revan had experienced something quite similar, being Revan, enemy and hero of the Republic.

"Maybe she is tired of being around an idiot," Sten responded, his tone serious.

Alistair flashed a smile; he felt more comfortable being insulted than thinking he had actual worth. "Yes, that seems like more of a logical answer. But, Revan, I thought you said you weren't good at politics."

"I _am_ good at politics," she clarified, "but in the past, I was not as…wise as I am now."

He nodded slowly in understanding. "Well, enough of politics," Revan continued cheerfully, "let's move on to military theory!"

Alistair groaned in exasperation, but consented anyway. Sten stayed a step behind them, listening in on their conversation but only commenting every hour or so. Revan didn't mind; in fact, she found that she rather enjoyed teaching. A part of her wished that she had remained in the Jedi Order so that she could have become a Master and then taken on a few apprentices, but Alistair and Sten would have to do in the meantime. She continued teaching until the sun began to set, at which point Rose stopped them and chose a spot to set up camp. There was a clear pond nearby, and a flat area ringed by trees where they could lay out their bedrolls and pitch the few tents they had. Revan tried to help, but she wasn't used to such crude shelters and often ended up getting in the way more than she helped. So, she sat back and watched, learning, after she had started a roaring blaze for warmth and to cook over. She didn't fear someone seeing the smoke; her second sight would alert her if anyone snuck up on them.

And while no one snuck up on them, several people passed through the area and sought to talk with Rose. First was an ill-spoken merchant who claimed that Duncan had promised to help him clean his family's name, who Rose told they would help as soon as time allotted. Then were two dwarves. Rose recognized them from Lothering; she had helped them fight off some darkspawn that had attacked them. The older one introduced himself as Bodahn Feddic, and the younger, bleary-eyed dwarf as Sandal, his foster son. Apparently, Sandal was some type of savant: he was one of the few people in Thedas who could enchant items without being Tranquil. Bodahn asked if they, as travelling merchants, could travel with their little party. And, of course, Rose accepted. She was not one to turn down any help, and both Rose and Revan knew the value of merchants. As Rose looked through his wares, the Jedi approached the two curiously. She had not seen the dwarves since her time in the Deep Roads all those years ago, and even then she had not spoken with them.

Bodahn seemed willing enough to talk about his past. Apparently, he had once been a merchant in the magnificent dwarven city of Orzammar. But, he had gotten most of his wares from the rubble in the Deep Roads, and one day, a noble lady found her something of her brother's in his wares and accused him of murder and theft. So, he fled to the surface, continuing his business of "recycling." Sandal he had found in the Deep Roads as a babe. The dwarf theorized that he might be lyrium-addled, but Revan didn't think so. Something about the way Sandal looked at her made her think it was something more than just lyrium. She and Bodahn got along well, especially since she had no qualms about where he had gotten his merchandise. To her, it was better to find and take something then let it rust in the dark, or fall into the hands of the darkspawn, who definitely had no preference where their equipment came from. She told the merchant that, and he smiled.

"See, that's what I've tried to tell everyone else, but none of them seem to understand," he said enthusiastically as Rose threw Revan an accusatory look. Apparently, she found the source of the goods a bit disturbing, but she didn't comment.

As Rose bartered with Bodahn over the price of some poultices, Revan greeted Sandal. The young dwarf looked at her quizzically, and Revan could tell he was no idiot. He was analyzing her, and beyond her. Her soul, maybe? His gaze sent shivers up her spine.

After a minute of looking at her with his big eyes, Sandal spoke. "You're a pretty dragon."

Her entire body went cold as Revan dropped to her knees so that she could look him in the eyes. Her voice shook as she asked, "And why do you say that?"

"Do you see the clouds and shadows where you fly?" he asked cryptically.

Revan stared as she processed his words, but she did not know of what he spoke. "I…I'm not sure."

He nodded slowly, and then a big smile broke out upon his face. "Enchantment?"

Revan smiled kindly but declined. She rose, dusted off her greaves, and walked away as calmly as she could manage. The conversation had left her…unsettled.

As she sat by the fire and warmed her hands by the fire, her mind running the strange conversation over and over in her mind, Morrigan looked up from her seat next to her. She held a skewer with a large, golden rat sizzling from the fire in one hand. Revan could feel her cat-like eyes scrutinizing her.

"You seem…disturbed," Morrigan commented.

"You try talking to that dwarf," Revan gestured behind her to where Sandal and Bodahn were setting up camp, "and see if you aren't unsettled by the end of it."

"The merchant?" the witch wondered. "But he is so—"

"No, his son," she corrected the girl. "He's…different."

Morrigan looked toward the fire and then took a bite out of the rat. After a moment's hesitation, she offered the skewer to Revan, not saying a word. Revan eyed her curiously, but accepted. The rat was savory, cooked just long enough so the meat was still moist. She handed it back. The night seemed eerily silent as they sat together. Alistair was talking with Rose quietly at the edge of camp; Sten had gone looking for any food that might be nearby; Leliana was bathing in the pond out of sight. At that moment, Revan wished desperately for a Pazaak deck, if just to keep her mind busy.

Morrigan cleared her throat. "So…" she began, "where do you come from, if not Thedas? I have heard my mother mention other worlds and other lands, but she never told me about them."

Revan chewed her lip in thought. "I don't remember the world I was born on very well. I remember it was always warm, though. I was taken from there when I was very young. I barely even remember the name of the planet. And the ones after that one…I don't care to remember. The first world that I can really recall is Dantooine, where I was trained. The entire planet is pretty much one big plot of farmland: the grass in golden brown, and the trees are sparse and few, and their leaves are either brown or olive green. The planet also barely varies in elevation, and where it does, it's always a steep rock face, and rarely do you come across a hill. At least, that's how I remember it; it was bombed, its surface probably obliterated, less than a year ago. Then there was Coruscant…"

So, Revan launched into a description of every planet she had ever been to, and even some she had only heard about. She described the city planet of Coruscant, with its buildings spreading over the entire planet and reaching up miles into the sky. She told of Tatooine, with its infinite desert and krayt dragons and life where none should have existed. She spoke of Kashyyyk, where the trees grew so high you couldn't see the tops of them when you stood at the bottom. Of Manaan, with its vast blue oceans. Of the lost world they had gone to, with its stunning beaches. She told of worlds where the mushrooms and fungi grew taller than the buildings, of worlds where the seas changed from blue to pink to yellow in just a few clicks, of worlds that were hells, and worlds that were heavens. Lava pools, diamond grottos, planets made entirely out of gold and marble; a planet, Minbar, that she had only heard about, but where the cities were carved out of solid crystal, and refracted the light into a thousand different colors. As she was speaking, she noticed Rose come and joined them, enraptured with Revan's descriptions.

"The world I love the most," Revan finished, "is the simplest one. Mandalore. Part barren wasteland from all their wars, part farmland. But it has a simple beauty to it. Maybe it's the people, I'm not sure. But, when you go there, you feel this kind of…well, it's difficult to explain. You feel at peace, yet your heart pounds with the promise of adventure. You can almost feel the blood that has been spilt upon its surface, calling to you, reminding you of all the sins of the past, but all the hopes of the future. I don't know, but something about it…" Revan stared up at the stars, remembering her brief time on Mandalore. Of course, they had hated her there for her part in the war, but now, she thought they might welcome her.

They sat in silence for a while, and then Morrigan stood. She looked at Revan, her eyes softer now, almost apologetic, and opened her mouth to speak.

"I…I wanted to…" she tried to say the words, but they stuck in her throat.

Revan smiled kindly at her, knowing what the girl was about to say. "You're welcome."

She gave the Jedi a small smile, bowed her head, and walked away. Meanwhile, Rose shook her head slowly, a wistful smile upon her face.

"I wish I could sit and listen to you for hours," she told Revan.

"Maybe, when this is over, you can," she offered.

Rose looked up and smiled, just as happy as when Revan had first seen her with Alistair. It was good to see the young Warden feeling better in these gloomy times. Her sparkling demeanor made Revan smile, too. "I'd like that," she said.

Rose stood, bade Revan good night, and walked over to her bedroll to get some sleep. Revan knew she should do the same, but all the talk of space made her long desperately for her ship, the _Ebon Hawk_ , which had been the closest thing she had ever had to a home. An odd thing to say, but the _Ebon Hawk_ had been _hers_ , and no one else's, after Davik had died.

As Revan stood up to leave, she noticed Sten giving Rose a sort of angry glare. Revan recalled that, when she had been helping pitch tents earlier, he and Rose had had a sort of heated argument. She approached him and sat next to him, folding her legs under her.

"You look upset," she observed.

Sten's eyes narrowed as he said sarcastically, "How could you tell?"

Revan flashed an amused smile. "I didn't know Qunari were capable of sarcasm."

Sten just grunted in response.

"So…why the angry glare?"

The big Qunari gave pause for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I told Rose that I did not understand your society. No one has a place here. Your farmers wish to be merchants. The merchants dream of being nobles, and the nobles become warriors. No one is content to be who they are. And you and Rose…women have no place as warriors, at least not in the Qun."

"The Qun?"

"The code of my people," he explained.

She nodded, trying to formulate how to respond to his chauvinistic opinions. Revan had encountered many before that did not believe a woman had the skills to lead others into battle; that was one reason why she had donned the Mandalorian mask in the first place, so that she could be anybody, and also why she had allowed her men to think she, too, was male. However, Sten's chauvinism was not hostile, merely uncomprehending. That meant that he could be convinced otherwise.

"So, what should women be instead?" she queried.

"Our women are either priests or workers," Sten explained. "Only women can be priests."

This startled Revan. Perhaps he wasn't that chauvinistic after all.

She looked down. "I guess you could say that I am both a priest and a warrior," Revan stated. "My people…we traveled from place to place, fighting evil and helping others while teaching them the ways of the good and righteous. Or, at least, that was the intent. But, the point is that my people were both, not one or the other. Both men and women fought and preached alongside each other.

"And if a woman has the soul of a warrior, why can she not follow the path it leads her on?"

Revan saw Sten's eyes go slightly wide at her question, and she knew she had hit on one of his beliefs. It had been a wild guess, but apparently, Qunari believed in souls.

"Women are not born with the souls of warriors," he said simply.

"Rose and I were," she retaliated. "How do you think we have survived so long in this Blight? Your women may not have warrior souls, but your people are different from ours."

"But women are weak; they do not have the strength to fight," Sten argued.

That was a point Revan could truly contest. Smiling, she countered, "Fighting isn't all about strength. Did I not tell you and Alistair that the best warriors are the ones that can outwit their opponents? Fighting is about balance—balance between strength, speed, and smarts. There are some women who are very strong; there are more women who are quicker and smarter than men. I agree that many women do not have the constitution to fight, or the will. But among humans, it is not terribly difficult to find women that do not mind the death and bloodshed, and have the resilience to survive many battles."

Her words seemed to stick in Sten' mind, and he stayed silent, unable to retort. She took his silence as an acceptance. Rising, she clapped him on the shoulder and strode off to find a secluded spot, perchance to sleep.

Instead, she wandered to the pond and meditated. She had discovered long ago that if she retreated deep enough within herself, she could immerse her inner self in the Force, and awaken feeling like she had slept a full eight hours. Unfortunately, it didn't work after a few weeks, since her body still needed sleep, but it was a lot better to meditate than spend a night tossing and turning from the dreams that Revan knew awaited her in the realm of sleep, the Fade. Urthemiel and the Blight were waiting for her there, and tonight, she did not want to see the horrors that lay ahead of them.

Unfortunately, Rose did. Sometime in the night, when the moon had vanished, Rose jerked awake with a cry of alarm. Revan could sense the fear in her mind through the Force. And she could feel the fading presence of Urthemiel in the girl's dreams. As Revan strode toward the campfire, where the rest were sleeping, she heard Alistair talking to her. He was saying how most Grey Wardens had bad dreams, in the beginning. Rose was breathing hard, almost sobbing, so Revan sat next to her and wrapped her arms around the girl's slim frame to comfort her. Quietly, just loud enough that Rose could hear her, she began singing an elvish lullaby. Soon, Rose calmed down and began breathing easy as Alistair looked away in uncomfortable envy. He obviously wanted to be the one to comfort her.

"Urthemiel cannot harm you here, Rose," she said in a low whisper as she unwrapped her arms.

Rose nodded, and then mouthed the words "thank you". Revan dipped her head in acknowledgement and returned to her spot by the pond. She could see Alistair behind her rising from the fire as soon as the girl was asleep to come and speak with the Jedi.

When he was a few feet behind her, Revan spoke without moving. "Yes, Alistair? What can I do for you?"

He stopped, slightly startled, before coming and sitting next to her. He crossed his legs and looked at the calm, tranquil surface of the water as it reflected the distant stars far above them. Finally, he asked, "General, how do you do it?"

Revan turned her head so she could scrutinize his face with her one good eye. "Do what?"

He plucked a blade of grass from the ground. "How do you always know what to say? You're always so calm, so wise…you're never scared."

The Jedi bowed her head and chuckled quietly. "Alistair, I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm _always_ scared." Alistair gave her a look of disbelief, and Revan shook her head slowly. "The secret of commanding anything is to never show fear. I learned it at an early age, and now it's just become second nature. But I'm terrified, Alistair. It is very possible we could all die tomorrow, if Urthemiel finds us before we're ready to face him. It's also possible that I could turn evil again, and I doubt you or anyone here could stop me if that happened. I'm terrified of what might happen."

"Then how do you hide it?" he asked. "Since you and Rose do it, I should, too. I mean, after all, you are training me to—"

"You want to seem strong to Rose, to impress her," Revan interrupted him. "Don't lie to me, Alistair. I have seen romances such as yours in the past."

Even in the dark, it was easy to see Alistair blushing as he tried to turn away. Revan shook her head in pity.

"If you want to remain strong, you have to think only of what you must do, and of that which you need to be strong for. Say, for example, you are leading a charge of scared farmers against a vastly superior force, and the only way to win was to give your men courage, strength. What is it that keeps you going against all odds? What is it that gives you strength?"

Alistair didn't look at her. "I used to not know that," he said quietly. "But now…" Alistair looked back at the fire, back at Rose.

"That is what I thought," Revan uncurled her legs. "Look, Alistair, I know exactly what you are going through. It happened to me not long ago. And all I can tell you is that if you want to win her heart, you have to be honest with her about yourself. I wasn't honest about myself to the man I loved, even though I didn't know the truth myself, but when he found out who I was, it almost drove him away. Don't make the same mistake; tell her."

"I…it'll be hard to," Alistair commented. "I'm so used to the people who know treating me differently that I can't imagine her thinking of me the same."

Revan put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You cannot hide your past from her forever. Wait, gather your courage, and tell her when you feel the time is right. But tell her soon, or it may be too late. She deserves to know."

He nodded numbly as he absorbed her words, however distasteful they were. He had needed to hear them, though. A secret like his, that he was a king's bastard, was not one that could be kept for long. Especially since Arl Eamon had been the one to raise Alistair. At least he didn't know who his mother really was…

Or did he?

No, he couldn't; she dismissed the thought from her mind. If he had known, he would not have let her try to instruct him in the ways of a leader. If he had known, he would not risk flirting with perhaps the most powerful ally and political figure that he knew. If he had known, his entire attitude towards mages would be a lot less impersonal.

Alistair wished her good night and returned to his bedroll by the fire, leaving Revan to think. She knew enough about the politics of Thedas from reading and from her discussions with Rose and Duncan to know roughly what Loghain was planning. He would soon call a Landsmeet, a political gathering of all the nobles in Ferelden, to vote on a new king, since the line of succession was being contested. Since he had proclaimed himself regent, he would have the strongest claim to the throne. And, if he won, he would have unlimited access to Ferelden's armies and would most likely use these against the Grey Wardens and let the problem of the Blight escalate into a disaster, similar to how the Jedi counsel had acted when she and Alek, before he had renamed himself Malak, had seen the Mandalorian threat as a danger that needed dealing with, while the Council sat on their hands and preached about how there were greater forces at work. Eventually, they had been proven right, but if the Jedi Council had gotten their way a lot of innocent people would have died because of their over-caution.

Revan's eyes flashed. The similarities between her past and her present were strikingly similar. There was, of course, an immediate threat: the Blight, and by extension Loghain. If they ignored the Blight, countless innocents would die. Obviously, ignoring it was not an option. If they challenged Loghain, the consequences could be disastrous, tearing the nation apart when they should be unified. No, there had to be a way to unite their goals. They had to present a strong leader, one that even Loghain would be forced to cede to. Unfortunately, that might be a problem.

The most logical choice would be the Arl of Redcliffe himself, since he was related to Cailan. But, Arl Eamon would be seen as a noble trying to gain more power for himself and raise himself above his station. Most nobles, though they might respect Eamon, would not support his claim. They needed someone with a more legitimate claim to the throne, who could lead: Alistair. Revan had started training him, after all, to groom him in the case they needed a candidate. And it was looking increasingly like they would as Revan sat there, pondering the situation. Though young and inexperienced, Alistair did have a presence about him, and people adored his easy manner. He just needed to grow up some more.

The only problem, besides his youth and inexperience, was the fact that he was a Grey Warden. Loghain would use this fact to convince the nobility that his ascension to the throne would be, in essence, a take-over by the Grey Wardens and a new age of oppression, this time by an organization located in the distant Anderfels. But, if they could convince everyone that his being a Grey Warden meant a new respect and security in the large scope…they might have a chance.

There were, however, a few things that worried her. First was Alistair's mother. He had made it quite clear that he had no idea of her true identity. And, fortunately, the only people she could tell that knew was the mother herself and Duncan, now deceased, and maybe a few other Grey Warden officials. But, they had no reason to reveal the identity of his mother. If they did, the results would be horrible. The other was Rose. The boy's infatuation with her was quite clear, and it seemed that Rose was reciprocating those feelings. And, in better times, the match would actually be quite politically beneficial, considering that Rose was one of the two children of the now-deceased Teyrn of Highever, an old, wealthy, and powerful family, if what Revan had read about them in their personal library was correct. It would raise both of their statuses, and Rose, with her diplomatic training and charismatic charm, would make the perfect queen. Unfortunately, she, too, was a Grey Warden, and the union between the two would be seen as an even bigger threat from the independent Wardens. There was a slim chance, however, that Rose could be used to temper Alistair's inexperience and goofiness, showing the nobles that he would be assisted by a capable general and elegant stateswoman.

The real problem was: if this was like her past, what greater forces were at work?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp shake, and she opened her eye to find Sten looking down at her, the morning sun sparkling on the surface of the pool. Sten's face was inscrutable as always, but his message was clear: they were leaving, and he had not dismissed her words from the night before. She gave him a smile and let him help her up.

After a small, cold breakfast and a quick cleanup of the camp, the enlarged party set out for Redcliffe. As they traveled, Revan continued to teach Alistair, and by extension Sten, about politics and warfare. The scenery steadily changed from trees to golden, dust and grass hills. Water birds flew above their heads. Revan could tell from Alistair's increasing nervousness that they were getting closer to the village. At last, as they crossed a bridge on a cliff that overlooked the shabby village, Alistair sprinted up to Rose to talk to her. Revan guessed from the pained expression of worry on his face that he was going to tell her the secret of his parentage. He jogged up to her and began talking in a furtive, low voice. Revan smiled, proud of him in a mentor-y sort of way.

Sten interrupted her thoughts. "I still do not understand why we are here. We do not have a treaty from this Arl," he complained, obviously confused.

"We're here for multiple reasons," she responded, still staring at Rose and Alistair, trying to ascertain Rose's emotions from a distance. "First, for soldiers, given to us on good faith. Then, for political reasons."

"How does that help us with the Blight?" Sten asked angrily.

Revan clapped her hands together, delighted: Rose had given him an excited smile. "Well think about it like this: if we fight the Blight with a huge army of elves, dwarves, and mages, it will look like we're trying to stage a coup. We need some normal, human, Ferelden soldiers to prove to the populace that our cause is legitimate."

"That hardly strikes me as a good enough reason to go out of our way and waste our time, when instead we could be getting those treaties," Sten retaliated.

Revan turned to look at him. "Oh? There's more to it than that. Do you remember Loghain?"

Sten gave a curt nod; the Qunari had been filled in on the recent movements of the traitor. "Well, it can safely be assumed that, because of his hatred of Grey Wardens, he will try to attack us, yes?"

He nodded again.

"The only thing preventing him from doing this so far is the fact that he does not wear the crown, and therefore does not have the support of the nobles. However, there is no doubt that he will soon call a Landsmeet to decide on a new king. And, right now, he is the only eligible choice. Follow?"

Another nod.

"Thus, without opposition, Loghain will take the throne, raise an army, and then we will have to fight a war on two fronts. And you know how horrible that would turn out."

Another nod.

"However, the Arl of Redcliffe, the one we are going to save or whatnot, has influence in the Landsmeet. If we have him on our side, about half the nobles will not support Loghain, maybe even more. Thus, we prevent Loghain from raising an army against us, and perhaps even gain the support of the nobles and their armies ourselves."

Morrigan turned around, having listened to the conversation. "And have this…Arl on the throne? How do we know we can trust him? Perhaps he will raise an army against us as well."

She smiled and looked back at Rose and Alistair. He was grinning sheepishly, while Rose looked a bit relieved. "The Arl won't be on the throne," she said wistfully.

Both the Qunari's and the witch's brows knitted together, following her gaze. Morrigan began, "You can't seriously be considering—"

She was interrupted by the arrival of a militiaman, panting and sweating from his uphill climb. His eyes flashed with terror. Revan examined him carefully: his armor was tattered and old, his sword hanging from his hip slightly dulled, and his quiver half empty. There had been fighting, sometime recently. She immediately began to worry.

"I…I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it," the militiaman said breathlessly. "Have you come to help us?"

Rose looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The militiaman's face fell. "So you don't know? Has nobody out there heard?"

"About the Arl being sick? We've heard that," Rose said, still puzzled.

"He could be dead, for all we know," he said, the terror growing in his eyes. "Nobody's heard from the castle in days. We're under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting…and dying."

Morrigan snickered, "Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really."

Revan elbowed her in the side as the militiaman continued. "We've no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next."

"Hold on," Alistair stopped him. "What is this evil that's attacking you?"

"I…I don't rightly know," he stuttered, "I'm sorry. Nobody does. I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you."

"Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?" Alistair's face lit up a fraction.

"Yes," the militiaman responded. "It's not far, if you'll come with me."

Alistair followed the militiaman as he started walking down the path. With a sigh and a quick glance back at Revan, Rose followed. Revan smiled despite herself; her sword hand itched to draw her blade once more.

As they descended the hill, Redcliffe Village revealed itself more clearly. Most of the houses were built over the beach and lake, supported on the docks and stilts. Some larger buildings were built into the side of the surrounding hills, giving the entire village a haphazard feel, as if it was barely standing. Castle Redcliffe was, as its name implied, built on an overlooking cliff, large and stony in comparison to the small and wooden village. Revan immediately felt the aura of fear emanating from the villagers below. She could feel the darker side of her hungering for that fear, but she quickly quenched that dark desire. She would not return to the Dark Side.

The militiaman led them through the village square, an open dirt courtyard that was bordered by the Chantry on one side and the smithy on the other. He ascended the steps to the Chantry, the largest building in the village proper, and went through the doors. Revan steeled herself for another encounter with a Sister before entering. Sten walked a pace behind her, sort of like a protector, which made Revan feel slightly better.

The inside of the Chantry was darker than the sunny outside, causing Revan to blink once so her normal sight could adjust. The Chantry itself was packed with villagers; the old, infirm, young, and female crammed inside, talking in low tones and trying to quiet the crying babies and toddlers who didn't understand what was happening. Sisters meandered through the groups of people, offering aid and prayers when needed. The air was filled with the overpowering scent of sweaty bodies and terror. Near the altar at the back, a man in slightly less dirty and slightly more fancy clothes stood, his arms cross, presiding over the whole affair. His exterior was calm, but Revan could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he tried to figure out how he would save all these people. She assumed that the man was Bann Teagan.

His weary, bleak eyes caught sight of them, and a little energy returned to the Bann's face as he examined the group approaching him.

"It's…Tomas, yes?" the Bann addressed the militiaman. "And who are these people with you? They're obviously not simple travelers."

Revan grinned at the observation. Tomas hurried to say, "No, my lord. They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them."

"Well done, Tomas," he gave Tomas a reassuring smile, trying his best to be strong for these people. Then, he turned his attention to the group, and his eyes settled on Rose, standing at the front and exuding an air of authority. "Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother of the Arl."

Alistair, standing next to Rose, cleared his throat. "I remember you, Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger...and covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" Teagan repeated confused, before a bright, hopeful smile lit his face. "Alistair? It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it," the awkward Warden said glumly.

"Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things," the Bann agreed bitterly.

Rose perked up at the comment. "You don't believe Loghain's lies?"

"What, that he pulled his men from the battlefield in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly," Teagan replied. "Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man. So…you are a Grey Warden as well?" he scrutinized Rose. "Is it possible we've met? You seem very familiar."

Rose gave him her courtier smile, trying to hide the pain of the memories of her days as a noble's daughter. "You may have known my father, Teyrn Cousland."

"Ah, yes, that's it exactly," Teagan flashed a smile back. Revan thought bitterly that he wouldn't be so happy if he knew the Teyrn's fate. "A pleasure to meet you indeed, though I wish it were under better circumstances. I assume you are here to see my brother, correct? Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill, and no one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts. Then, the attacks started, a few nights ago now. Evil…things surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished in the assault."

"What evil things are you talking about?" Rose asked inquisitively.

"Some call them the walking dead, decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh…" the Bann shivered. "They hit again the night afterward. Each night they come, always with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair," Teagan turned to the familiar face, "I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends."

Alistair squirmed uncomfortably. "It isn't just up to me. Though the Grey Wardens don't stand much of a chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon."

Revan put a comforting hand on his pauldron. "That is exactly what I was thinking. Of course we'll help," she said, considering Rose's hesitant expression.

"There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain," Sten protested again. "It is a fool's errand."

Revan shot him a glare before reminding him, "We already talked about this, right, Sten?"

Sten grunted and looked away in stubborn consent. Morrigan looked like she was about to protest, too, but a quick glare from Revan made her look away in silence, too. They understood the reasons they were there, even if they didn't like it.

Teagan smiled in relief and spouted, "Thank you! Thank you! This…means more to me than you can guess. Tomas, please tell Murdock what transpired. Then return to your post."

"Yes, my lord," Tomas crossed his arm against his chest in a small bow before jogging out to inform this Murdock.

"Now then," the Bann turned back to them, the weariness returning to his eyes. "There is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defenses outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the Chantry. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle."

Rose continued talking to the Bann, trying to ascertain exactly what the situation was from Teagan's view. Meanwhile, Revan gestured to Sten and Morrigan and took them to a relatively empty corner of the Chantry. She glared at both of them angrily.

"I get it," she began. "I don't want to be here anymore than you two. I'd much rather we get the treaties taken care of and go fight the darkspawn. Hell, I'd even be happier facing Loghain directly. However, this needs to be done if we're going to even have a chance at getting those treaties without being crushed by Loghain's armies. Now, both of you, these villagers are scared out of their wits, and they don't need you two complaining about how hopeless it is to fight these things. Capiche?

Morrigan and Sten exchanged guilty glances before nodding to her. Morrigan let out a sigh of defeat; she already knew better than to argue with Revan.

"Good, now—"

Revan stopped as Rose approached them. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?" Rose asked her.

Revan nodded to Sten and Morrigan to go, which they did without complaint. "Yes?"

Rose sighed. "So, like Teagan said, there are two…sort of groups defending the village: the knights up on the hill and the militia."

"All right."

Rose looked like she just ate something sour. "I…I need you to lead the militia. Or, help them, I mean."

"But?"

"The…Teagan says the monsters usually come from the castle bridge."

Revan nodded, understanding. That meant that the knights on the hill would fight the enemy first, rather than the villagers. "So, I'll be by myself down with the villagers?"

Rose cringed. "It's just…I thought about this, and…I've worked with knights before. I know how they think. But you…you're inspirational. If anyone can give the villagers courage to fight, it would be you. And you won't be alone…"

Revan raised an eyebrow. "Well, you'll need a mage with you, so there's Morrigan. And I refuse to work with Leliana again. We'll tear each other's throats out. Which leaves Sten and Alistair. So, which one do you want?"

The young Warden looked at the ground, "I know I said I wouldn't treat him differently because of his past, but…"

"Alistair is next in line for the throne, and putting him in excessive danger is a risk we can't take," Revan finished.

"How did you—" Rose asked in surprise.

"Duncan told me a long time ago," she answered, hesitant to mention that he had given her all his memories.

Rose nodded. "So, are you okay with that?"

"Of course. I want Sten with me for now, though; I have a feeling he'll be useful in shaping up the militia before nightfall," Revan smiled reassuringly at her.

Rose nodded again, the same weariness from Bann Teagan filling her face. This was going to be a long day.

The Warden left with Leliana and Morrigan to see if the knights needed any help preparing for the coming night, and Revan gathered Alistair and Sten. They looked at her expectantly, like pupils would look to their master, Alistair more so than Sten. She clapped her hands together, and they headed out of the Chantry to meet Murdock.

Outside, her eyes once again adjusting to the change in light, Revan took in the scene laid out before her. Militiamen tried practicing, but their weapons were shoddy and their armor in urgent need of repair. Revan wondered where the village smith was. From her observations, the militia looked like they wouldn't stand a chance in the upcoming battle.

There was one man standing near the stilt houses, with a thick goatee and slightly better armor than the rest. Revan figure he must be Murdock.

They approached him, and with one glance the man unconsciously pulled himself straighter. "So you're the Grey Warden, are you? I didn't think they made women Grey Wardens," Murdock greeted them.

Revan tried not to roll her eyes. She had met men like this before, when she was a Jedi. _You? A Jedi? Can women even be Jedi?_ Mostly, it had been from drunkards or ill-educated slummies, but it still made her annoyed.

"I don't think the darkspawn care who kills them. And besides, right now you look like you can use all the help you can get, woman or no," Revan crossed her arms in irritation.

"True enough. I'm not an ingrate or nothing, I was just observin'," he said. "Name's Murdock, mayor of what's left of the village—providing we aren't all killed and hauled off to the castle tonight."

Revan gave him a small smile and used the Force to soothe his anxiety with her words. "Have faith, Murdock. We will be able to defeat this evil."

"I…I hope you're right," he said, a little less worried than before. "I've been trying to hold us together, but it isn't easy. Anyway, you're here, and they tell me you're in charge."

"I guess I am," Revan agreed. "So, tell me about the men: how's morale?"

Murdock grimaced, "Morale's about what you'd expect. These men aren't soldiers—they're villagers defending their homes, and they're frightened. It would help if we had decent equipment. There weren't enough swords in Owen's shop, and the men's armor is nearly falling off. I don't think we're in any shape to fight. We'll do our best, of course, but…well, I have my doubts. I just hope I'm alive tomorrow morning."

"You will be, don't worry," Revan reassured him. "But, about the weapons and armor…it would help morale if we had the village smith helping with that. Where is he?"

"Owen?" Murdock almost spit the name. "The stubborn fool refuses to even talk. He's locked himself in his forge."

"Why?"

"His daughter, Valena, is one of the Arlessa's maids," Murdock explained. "So he hasn't heard from her since this whole business started. He demanded that we attack the castle, break down the gate, and force our way in. I said it was impossible, but he wouldn't listen."

Revan's smile widened. She was sure she could handle a simple, distraught blacksmith. "All right. Anything else I can help with?"

Murdock considered this. "Well…we could use some extra bodies. Having a veteran like Dwyn in the militia would help a lot, but he flat out refuses.

"Dwyn?"

"He's a trader, a dwarf. Lives near the lake. Locked himself up in his home with some of his workers, he has, says he doesn't need any of us."

"Okay, I'll take care of that, too," Revan though aloud. "I'll be back soon."

She gestured to the boys, and they headed to the smith across the way. She knocked, and from inside the door, the smith began yelling and cursing at her. She imbued her voice with as much calm as she could muster, and the smith let them in. He was a portly man, and his breath smelled heavily of alcohol. In fact, his entire smithy smelled of alcohol. She and Alistair managed to convince him to help make repairs, in exchange for a promise that they'd find his daughter. Sten observed the entire exchange, obviously perturbed at the speed she promised their aid.

"Is this a promise we will not keep?" he asked.

"What's this?" Owyn asked. Luckily, the spirits were still having the desired effect.

Sten glared at him. "I said nothing to you, human."

"We are keeping the promise, Sten," Revan growled at him. She finished speaking with Owyn, and then they departed. Walking out of the smithy, she explained that they'd have to go into the castle at some point to save the Arl, and they hadn't promised to bring back Valena alive. Sten seemed satisfied with the answer.

They managed to find Dwyn's house as well, but he had locked the door and refused to answer, unlike Owyn. Revan sighed; luckily, the lock was weak. She smiled at Sten.

"Would you do the honors, Sten?" she asked.

He grunted, but his eyes didn't seem quite as angry and his ran his shoulder into the door and busted it down. The lock, of course, gave in easily, and Sten caused the door to swing in violently. Revan stepped over the sill and into the small house, followed by Alistair. Sten trailed after.

Inside was a virtual stockpile of crates and weapons. Some armed men stood nearby, wearing the hardened expressions of trained soldiers or guards. They did, however, seem surprised that someone had broken down the door. A stocky, armored dwarf emerged from behind a pile of furniture used as a barricade. He put his fists on his hips and glowered at her, the obvious leader.

"Wonderful. Intruders," he said flatly. "I hope you've a good reason for breaking and entering my home."

"Yes, I do," she said. "Murdock says he needs you for the militia, and when no one answered the door, I worried something might be wrong."

The dwarf scowled even deeper. "The name's Dwyn. Pleased to meet you. But, I'll tell you what I told Murdock: I'm not risking my neck for this town."

"Oh?" Revan crossed her arms. "And I can't change your mind about that?"

"Maybe. Let's hear what you've got," the dwarf folded his arms likewise.

"Would you like me to?" Sten asked, his tone flat and serious.

"No, no, I can handle this."

Revan debated whether she should use logic on him, or use the Force to sway him. He seemed like a stubborn dwarf. Then she smiled; she would use this opportunity to test her strength. She knew dwarves weren't entirely resistant to the Force, unlike some of the aliens Revan had met in her past. She should be able to convince him.

She extended her hand, palm facing the dwarf, and putting all her willpower behind her words, she commanded, "You want to fight with the militia."

The dwarf was incredibly willful, as she had expected. His mind resisted her power with ferocity. But, Revan kept the power flowing between them. She put all her willpower behind it; she _had_ to win this fight. After a minute of intense focus, she felt his will begin to waver, and then she overwhelmed his mind with the urge to fight with the militia.

"I…want to fight with the militia," Dwyn conceded wearily.

"Excellent, that's what I thought you'd say." Revan suddenly felt very tired.

"Go tell Murdock he won. And I better see you out in the square when those creatures come," Dwyn said bitterly, before turning away.

Revan led the men out of the house. Once they were out of earshot, Alistair turned to her, a big, awed grin on his face.

"I didn't know you could do that!" he proclaimed.

"What? Sway people with my mind?"

"Well, yes!" he responded. "That was amazing!"

"Was this a trick of magic?" Sten asked, his voice deadly serious.

She turned her head to look at him. "Not exactly. It was…a different sort of magic."

"So, you are _bas saarebas?_ You are a mage?"

Sten's eyes looked accusingly at her. "Yes," she answered truthfully. "I am a mage."

Immediately, Sten stiffened. Obviously, he did not like mages, just as Alistair didn't. But, he said nothing; apparently, he respected her enough to not strangle her on the spot.

Back at the village, Murdock was incredibly pleased with her work. The men looked to be in better spirits as well, thanks to the repaired equipment. Revan hoped that tonight would go well. She did not know if these men could continue without some sort of victory. Alistair, Sten, and her spent the rest of the afternoon helping the men prepare, adjusting armor and giving advice to the untrained men. Murdock helped as well, and he even apologized to Revan for his earlier insult to her gender.

Then, the sun started to set. The men began to get nervous and fidgety. Battle nerves. All soldiers had it, before a fight. Even Revan sometimes got anxious. But, these men needed a strong leader. So, she ascended the stairs of the Chantry and gave a loud whistle, catching everyone's attention. All the militiamen in the square turned to face her.

The words almost caught in her throat, but these men needed encouragement. "Men," she began, "tonight, you will be asked to once again fight the horrors that have come from the castle in order to defend your homes and your families. They will outnumber us, this is true. And I know many of you do not have hope that you will survive the coming storm.

"However, I will tell you that you are wrong. We shall drive the monsters back into the grave, and we shall persevere! I promise you all, that by morning, all of you shall still be alive!"

A cheer broke out among the men. Alistair and Sten stared at her in abhorrent shock. Obviously, they did not think that that was a promise she could keep. But, she had said it, and she would prove them wrong. Her speech, meanwhile, had had the desired effect. The men were in better spirits now, ready to fight. That was all the edge Revan needed.

Murdock approached her, trailed by a concerned Alistair and a fuming Sten.

"That's a mighty fine promise you made there," the mayor said.

"One that I intend to keep," she responded.

He bit his lip. "I hope you can; these men need a victory."

"Which is exactly why I promised that."

Murdock grunted, and Sten's eyes narrowed. He obviously did not believe her, but that was fine with Revan. She sent him up to Rose, who she assumed was getting the knights ready for the battle as well. Then, she and Alistair waited for the monsters as dusk settled in.

She kept him talking, knowing that if he stopped, he, too, would grow nervous. They talked about a wide range of things, from why Rose had ordered him to stand with the villagers to the principles of the Chantry. As he talked, Revan grew more and more impressed with his intellect; he obviously did not give himself enough credit.

Around ten o'clock, they began hearing the clash of metal and the battle cries of the knights from atop the hill. Alistair immediately turned quiet and began pacing, his face indicating his concern, most likely for Rose. A fire blazed from the barrels of oil Rose had found. The men began to get restless. Even Revan stood and began to scan the horizon for threats, but strangely, the only glow that came from the hill was those of Rose and the knights. There was another glow, one more hazy, and different…

A sentry from within the village proper ran back and found Revan, panting breathlessly. His eyes were wide from terror.

"Monsters!" he shouted unnecessarily. "From the lake! Coming this way!"

Revan swore under her breath and turned to find Tomas, standing ready and awaiting her orders. "Go tell Rose, but only if the tide up there is controllable," she ordered. He saluted and ran up the hill.

Striding forward purposefully, Revan positioned herself between the lake and the square, where the monsters would first appear. The men gathered behind her, and Alistair took a spot beside her. Revan could smell the sweat in the air, hear the ragged breaths of the men as they struggle to calm their terror. She sent out am emphatic wave of calm over the group in order to clear their minds. If she was going to keep her promise, she needed them in the best possible shape.

The first monster appeared from between the houses and snarled at them with its glowing red eyes. It was a human corpse, its skin grey with decay, the flesh practically falling off its bones. In her second sight, the creature glowed like it was made of magic: the thing was possessed by a demon, probably a lesser one. Some men began to whimper in fear.

"Hold where you are!" Revan shouted. "Let it come to us!"

Right on cue, the monster gave a hiss and began charging, followed by several other of its comrades. Revan drew her blades, then, thinking that if there was any time she could use fire, it was then, she sheathed her poison blade and pulled out her lightsaber. Alistair looked at her in confusion, until she activated the blade, and the glowing blade lit up the square. The creatures were temporarily blinded, but the continued their charge.

As they reached Revan, she screamed in bloodlust and swiped her swords through the group, cutting through the decayed flesh as easily as she would warm butter. The group went down, not having even reached the militia. A cheer went up, and Revan could feel the morale increase as the men began to believe that they would, indeed, survive.

Then, the monsters began to come in larger and larger waves. Finally, the monsters began to reach the men, but luckily, the monsters were clumsy and inept with their weapons. The archers on the roofs kept shooting down the monsters, and the men easily chopped down the monsters. Revan kept whipping her blades around her, slaying the beasts around her with ferocity. Soon, a pile of corpses lay in front of her, and she had to climb up to the crest in order to keep fighting the possessed things. Alistair was on a pile of his own, though not quite as high, fighting just as fiercely. The stench of decay quickly overwhelmed the scent of sweat, and it kept causing Revan to gag. She had to keep reminding herself that she couldn't be distracted, since the monsters just kept coming. Sweat poured down her forehead and down her back. Her limbs began to feel heavy as she continued swinging widely to catch any enemies too close.

Finally, she saw Rose, Sten, Morrigan, and Leliana running down the hill to join the fighting. Leliana's arrows began whistling overhead with the arrows of the other archers, always catching the corpses in the head and felling them. Rose ran to join Alistair, and Sten began chopping his way towards Revan. She continued fighting until he managed to get to her.

"Did you slay all these?" Sten kicked the pile of corpses.

Revan flashed him a toothy smile. "Of course! Why do you think I'm covered in grime?"

Sten joined her on top of the little hill, and together, they pushed forward towards the houses and lake like a team that had fought together for years. Sten fought the same way Malak had, which made Revan both happy with nostalgia and sad with regret and what had become of him. However, together, they were just as efficient as she and Malak had been all those years ago. Enemies quickly fell before them, and they managed to get all the way to the docks. Revan glanced over through the wooden stilts to see Rose and Alistair making progress as well. Unfortunately, the closer to the lake they got, the more enemies they encountered. Soon, she could see Sten sweating in strain. This would have to end soon, if they had any chance of saving everyone.

At last, they came within view of Lake Calenhad. This was where the corpses were coming from; now, if only Revan had some way to incinerate them all…

"Cover me," she told Sten with sudden inspiration.

She closed her eyes and focused her energy, the peace and calm of her mind coupled with the anger and passion in her heart, and channeled it into an inferno of energy. Her eyes flashed open, and she caused the energy to surge from her body and light the water surrounding the village like it had been oil. The strangled sound of corpses hissing from the flame filled her ears, and the scent of burning flesh filled her nose. The lake was engulfed with flame, and then, after a minute of draining her energy and drowning and burning the corpses beneath the water, the flame extinguished. No more corpses rose from the depths.

"Well, glad that's over," Revan wobbled. Then, drained of all energy, she collapsed into blackness. Again.


	10. Act X

Act X: Redcliffe Village

Of course, when Revan awoke, her head felt like it was cleaved in two. She should have known, from all her experience with incredible feats with the Force, that doing something like lighting a lake on fire would almost kill her, especially since she was so weak with magic as it was. Now, she would be stuck with a blinding headache from overexertion for the rest of the day. Luckily, she could feel the soft touch of a pillow and a mattress beneath her. It felt good to be in a real bed, at least for a bit. But she had to wonder how she had gotten there. She opened her eye slowly, squinting to adjust to the bright light of day streaming in. She saw she was in a small cottage, probably Murdock's based on the clothes peeking out of the drawers nearby. The window was to her right, covered by little quaint, paisley curtains that were so out of character for Murdock that Revan almost laughed. She wondered if he had a wife; she hadn't asked.

Through her second sight, Revan noticed Sten sitting in a chair near the window, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs. She lifted her head an inch to see him, but a sharp pain shot through her neck and caused her to groan aloud. The Qunari looked up.

"You are awake," he noted dryly.

"Unfortunately," she concurred.

"Better than being dead."

Revan grunted in response. "Did we win? Wait, stupid question. How many casualties?"

There was a pause. "None, surprisingly," Sten said at last. "It appears you were able to keep your word."

Revan smiled and allowed herself to relax a bit. They had won, and she had proved herself without a doubt.

"I do not understand you, Revan," Sten continued. "You are obviously _bas saarebas_ , but you fought like a _karasaad_ , a soldier."

"Remember what I told you, about my people being both warriors and priests? Part of being a priest is also being a mage. We were taught to be all three," Revan explained. "We were called 'Jedi'. Well, I guess we still are called Jedi. It…seems so long ago, now."

Sten stared at her for a moment. "We will have to continue this conversation at another time, _Jedi_. Rose asked me to take you to her when you awoke; she is speaking with the nobleman now."

She groaned in dread as he rose to help her move. He put his arm under her back and propped her up. A jolt of pain shot through her again, but she merely grimaced at it, not wanting to complain any more than she had.

"So what are you? You said you were of the…what was it?" she tried to make conversation as he let her adjust to sitting.

"The Beresaad, the Qunari vanguard. We are 'those that reach ahead,'" he answered.

"So, you are _karasaad_?"

"No," he said. "I am _sten_."

Revan looked at him in bewilderment. "You are _sten_? I thought that was your name…"

"I am _sten_ , the commander of our unit. Qunari do not have names like you humans. We call ourselves by what we are."

He gathered her legs and helped her stand. Unfortunately, Revan couldn't stand on her own yet, as her legs felt wobbly. She knew, however, that she would feel better after a little while. Then, she noticed that she was in her undergarments. Sten then noticed, and without a word or change in expression, handed her her leathers and helped her pull them on. Revan wasn't sure whether to blush or laugh.

"Thanks," she finally decided on saying, albeit awkwardly.

Sten grunted. "I do not understand why you humans have such an aversion to nudity. Your body is not disfigured; it is a part of you."

Revan smiled, suddenly not awkward. She had always believed the same, to some degree, but the other Jedi had drilled it into her head to be modest: sexuality led to the Dark Side. "I couldn't agree more. However, we humans always associate the body with sex, and that makes it awkward."

His eyes narrowed. "I do not understand. Why is mating awkward?"

"Well…" Revan pulled on her glove gauntlets. "Sex is…it's a private act. Usually, we use it to express desire, or love, or passion. Why, do Qunari not do the same?"

"No," he said. "We have Tamassrans, a type of priest, that select those to be used for breeding. We do not mate as carelessly as you humans."

Revan pursed her lips in thought. Finished dressing, Revan had Sten help her to the door, his arm around her waist in support. Revan thought that this might have been Malak and her, had things not gone as they had. Sten was so similar to Malak, surprisingly. But Malak had always had a darker, more passionate side…Revan shivered despite herself.

As she walked, she felt her strength returning to her. However, the large hill up to the windmill, where Rose was with Bann Teagan, still proved a challenge to mount. Revan gritted her teeth as she forced her legs to work. Sten was silent and uncomplaining, as usual.

When they reached the windmill, they were presented with an unusual scene. Rose, with Alistair, was talking with Bann Teagan, as expected, but a woman dressed in a ridiculous courtly outfit was pacing nearby, a distraught look on her face. A guard, apparently from the castle, stood near her. Bann Teagan's guards, meanwhile, were glancing at each other in worry. Obviously, something was wrong. And from the way Rose's face was set, it involved something not pleasant.

Upon seeing Revan, Rose's face got considerably brighter, and she waved the two over.

"We have an issue," Rose said as soon as they were close enough.

"When do we not?" the Jedi retaliated.

"The lady over there, Isolde, is Arl Eamon's wife. She wants Teagan to go with her to the castle to help her son. But, she wants him to go alone," Rose explained.

"So," Bann Teagan picked up the story, "I proposed that I go in with Isolde and your party enters the castle using the secret passage in the windmill. I will distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance until you can open the gates from within."

Revan nodded. "Do we know what kind of evil is inside?"

"Lady Isolde didn't say," Alistair answered. "But I'm assuming it's bad."

She looked at all of them, trying to read their expressions. "Then that sounds like our best bet. Will Morrigan and Leliana be joining us?"

"Leliana is helping the Sister with the villagers. Morrigan should be—"

"Right here," the apostate appeared, just the slightest bit winded from the climb due to exhaustion from the previous night. "But I propose we leave the mutt."

Fuzzywuggins, who had been at Rose's side the entire time, growled in protest.

"What do you mean, 'mutt'? And why would we leave him?" Rose also protested.

"Not him, that mutt," Morrigan pointed at Alistair.

"Oh, ha ha, very funny, I almost forgot to laugh," the awkward Warden responded sarcastically.

Rose and Revan exchanged annoyed glances. "Right, let's get going, then!"

Bann Teagan slipped Rose something that looked peculiarly like a ring, but Revan did not ask. Then, the Bann joined the woman, who walked nervously toward the castle. The party waited until they were out of sight before slipping into the windmill and accessing the secret passage buried in the straw. Rose unlocked it with the ring Teagan had given her, and dropped down into a stone passage about three feet wide and six feet high. Alistair almost had to duck to fit, and Sten was bent double. Once in the passage, Morrigan, the last one in, closed the trapdoor above them, immersing them in darkness. Revan, of course, had no problem, due to her second sight and the thin coating of fungi that was on all the stones in the passage, but she summoned a bit of fire for the rest of them. Morrigan summoned more from the back, obviously stronger than her. The party then set out, down the dank passage to the castle.

After about ten minutes by Revan's calculations, they came upon an old, wooden door. Rose first tried opening it with the ring, but the door was stuck. She braced herself, then kicked the lock, shattering the old wood. They found themselves in what appeared to be the castle's basement. The walls, still stone, were slightly higher and cleaner, but the air was damp and smelled faintly like wine. It was eerily silent. Nothing moved, not even the air. The rotting scent of death tingled Revan's nostrils as they slowly progressed into the strange castle.

They had entered the dungeon containing the holding cells when they first encountered the enemy. Corpses piled against the walls suddenly were animated by demons and rose up, unsheathing their weapons. Revan hung back, still weak from the night before, while the others charged into the fray, cleaving the corpses apart. Revan managed to draw her dragonbone sword and slice a few in two before the others had dispatched them all. They made short work of them, and Rose had them carve up what remained of the corpses so the bodies could no longer be animated. That was when they heard the voice.

"You don't look like the Arlessa's guards," the voice, a high-pitched male voice, observed. "Are you from outside the castle?"

Revan hobbled over to look at the speaker, locked within a cell. He was dressed in mage robes, with tangled dark hair and large eyes that strangely reminded her of a gizka: innocent and vaguely cute, yet totally destructive.

"Depends," Rose put her hands on her hips and tried to blow away the loose piece of hair that had fallen on her face. "I am Rose, and these are my companions Alistair, Dragonheart, Sten, and Morrigan. Who are you supposed to be?"

"My name is Jowan," he said, rising from his seat on the floor. "I'm a mage the Arlessa hired to tutor her son, Connor. Until they…uh…threw me into the dungeon here."

Rose's brows knit together. "You poisoned the Arl."

The mage hung his head. "I'm not proud of it. The Arlessa had no idea what I was hired to do when she took me in to tutor Connor. I…I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first, Lady Isolde came here with her men and demanded that I reverse what I had done. I thought she meant the poisoning of the Arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She…she had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they left me here to rot."

Revan could see Rose thinking as she pursed her lips. Alistair looked about ready to murder the mage; after all, he had poisoned the closest thing Alistair had had to a father figure. Sten and Morrigan remained impassive.

"Why? Why poison the Arl?" Rose finally asked.

"I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain," Jowan answered. An uncomfortable silence of dread settled on the party as they all exchanged worried glances. Jowan continued: "I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle. You see, I'm a maleficar, a blood mage."

"You? A blood mage?" Morrigan scoffed. "Truly? I would never have guessed!"

"Blood magic is not good," Alistair said uneasily.

"I dabbled in the forbidden arts, and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to redeem myself…but he's abandoned me here, hasn't he? Everything's fallen apart, and I'm responsible! I have to make it right somehow, I _have_ to!"

Revan felt a pang of sympathy for the mage. She felt the exact way, and her crime was far worse. "Loghain does not care about anyone besides himself. He was using you to accomplish an end, and he would have discarded you regardless of the outcome," Revan told Jowan sadly.

"You're right," Jowan sighed. "I should have known that."

"How exactly was Arl Eamon a threat?" Rose asked, folding her arms.

"He only said that Arl Eamon was dangerous to the nation. Why wouldn't I believe Teyrn Loghain?" the blood mage explained.

"But why did the Arless need a mage to tutor her son?"

Jowan flinched. "Connor had started to show…signs. Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Mages would take him away for training. So, she sought an apostate to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. Her husband had no idea."

"Connor? A mage?" Alistair was astounded. "I can't believe it!"

"And how much magic did you teach Connor?" Rose continued.

"Some. But he's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell, never mind something more powerful. At least, not intentionally. I have thought about it, and it is possible Connor could have inadvertently done something to tear open the Veil. And with the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses.

"I never meant for it to end like this. I swear. Let me help you fix this."

Rose walked a few paces away and gestured for the others to join her. He face bespoke her indecision: on some level, she wanted to believe him, but she had been raised with the belief that blood magic equated evil. Revan did not blame her. She saw Morrigan cast a simple spell to make sure Jowan could not overhear their conversation.

"I say this boy could still be of use to us," Morrigan began, her yellow eyes hard and calculating. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"

"Hey, hey! Let's not forget he's a blood mage!" Alistair protested. "You can't just…set a blood mage free!"

"Better to slay him? Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the Templar?" the witch crossed her arms sternly.

"He poisoned the Arl. Even if he weren't a blood mage, that's attempted murder," Alistair responded coldly.

"This is why we sew up the mouths or our mages and cut out their tongues," Sten added.

Revan pursed her lips as she tried to phrase her response. The rest looked at her expectantly. "What better punishment than to force him to assist us, making him risk his life for the lives he tried to ruin? He wishes to repent, just like you, Sten. I think he deserves the chance. However…I agree that he has committed a crime. Therefore…we should not free him, but let the Arl decide what to do with him if…when he recovers. And, he will be a valuable asset in our case against Loghain; the other Arls will never stand for one of their own to be poisoned, not even by Loghain."

Sten looked down in a sort of shame or concession, having forgotten that he had committed murder and was still spared. Morrigan seemed pleased with her answer, and Alistair was making a face like he was sucking on lemons.

"Well…you have a point," he acknowledged. "And I guess this is an unusual situation."

"Then we force him to help us," Rose nodded in thought. "All right. It seems fair enough."

Morrigan dismissed the spell, and Rose strode up to the cell door. She scrutinized the mage in the cell with her intense eyes. "So how will you make things right?"

"I'd…well, I'd try to save anyone still up there. There must be something I can do," Jowan stammered.

Rose's eyes softened. She believed him. "Okay, I'm letting you out of this cell."

"You're letting me out? And then what?"

"You come with us, that's what," Rose answered.

Jowan flinched. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I'd like to help, but…I'm not sure I want to follow you into danger, exactly."

Revan grabbed the bars with frightening speed and put her face close enough to the bars so he could see her scars. The mage immediately backed away in fear. "Do you think you have a choice in this?" the Jedi started to become Sith, and a dark aura surrounded her as her anger grew. "You are convicted of dabbling in magic that poses the greatest threat to civilization and attempted murder. You're a convict. Part of your punishment will be sticking your neck out to help these people, or else we will leave you here for the corpses to feast upon. Is that understood?"

Jowan's eyes widened in terror, and Revan could see in her reflection in his eyes that hers had turned yellow. That was never a good sign. She released her anger and took a deep breath. "Is that understood?" she repeated calmly.

"Y-yes," he stuttered.

"Good," she said. Morrigan, from behind her, flicked her wrist, and the cell door unlocked magically. "Now let's get going."

Jowan stumbled out of his cell, still glancing at Revan in fear. As soon as her anger started to abate, she felt bad for intimidating the mage. Sten and Morrigan, however, looked at her in respect.

In the next room, a horde of corpses rose from the refuse piles and attacked them. Revan, exhausted from calling on the Dark Side, feebly helped slay them. Despite his terror, Jowan proved most useful. He did not use blood magic, but dutifully stuck to traditional magic as another form of repentance. Though there were more corpses in this area than in the dungeon, they slayed the monsters just as quickly, due to the help of another mage. It was difficult to believe how effective just one mage could be.

Rose, sweating now, led them up the stairs and into the castle proper. They explored each room thoroughly, just in case survivors were hiding, waiting to be found. They found no one, until they came upon a locked closet, which Rose kicked open to reveal a scared maid, whose name was Valena, the smith's daughter. Revan shot a triumphant smile at Sten, who merely scowled in return. She had said she always kept her promises. They sent the girl to the secret passage, so she could return home, and pressed onward.

The more they moved, the stronger Revan became. She started helping slay the beasts again, though she still could not move as fast as normal. Sten took it upon himself to stay near her to help, which she acknowledged with silent gratitude. However, she adamantly refused to use magic, knowing how weak it would make her.

They finally emerged into the courtyard, where Rose ran to open the gates for Ser Perth, and a Revenant, a powerful demon embodied in a powerful corpse, rose from the ground and attacked them with its own horde. Revan stayed away from the Revenant, knowing that she could not do much against it, though her blood boiled to attack it. Instead, she slayed corpses and tried to keep the monsters away from the others, who were attacking the Revenant with ferocity. Ser Perth and his knights joined them in the attack, and soon the Revenant was overpowered and slain.

At last, they reached the throne room, where the Arl held court. Taking a deep breath, Rose burst in, expecting another horde of corpses to fight, Ser Perth and Alistair right behind her. Instead, they were greeted by Bann Teagan performing a little dance before the raised platform where the Arl's chair was located. A boy lounged in the chair, clapping in delight, and Isolde stood at his side, her head hanging down in guilt and grief. Revan had to admit the Bann was quite the acrobat.

Bann Teagan finished his dance, and as he moved back to the chair's side, Revan noticed that his eyes were glazed over. He was being controlled. Then she noticed that, in her second sight, the boy glowed with the strange glow she had come to associate with the corpses: he was possessed. The glow in him was stronger, however, stronger than the glow that had emanated from the Revenant. Whatever was possessing him was powerful.

The boy caught sight of them and rose from his chair. His face was contorted into an ugly sneer as he fixed his gaze on Rose, who was leading the large group.

"So these are our visitors? The ones you told me about, Mother?" the boy spoke, a second voice echoing his words, evidence of the demon.

"Y-yes, Connor," Isolde responded gloomily, her accent unmistakably Orlesian, like Leliana's.

His eyes narrowed. "And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village? And now it's staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can't see it well enough."

"That…that is a woman, Connor. Just as I am," the Arless explained.

Connor swiveled his head violently. It appeared to Revan that the demon did not have very good control over its host. "You lie! This woman is nothing at all like you! Why, just look at her! Half your age and pretty, too. I'm surprised you don't order her executed in a fit of jealousy!"

Rose looked horrified. Isolde looked about ready to burst into tears. "Connor! I beg you, don't hurt anyone!" the Arless pleaded.

The boy bent over double and pressed his hands to his temple, seemingly trying to fight the demon. "M-Mother? What—what's happening? Where am I?"

Isolde grabbed his arms protectively. "Oh, thank the Maker! Connor! Connor, can you hear me?"

Connor yanked his arms away from her and yelled, "Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me!"

"Maker's breath! What has happened here?" Ser Perth also wore a horrified expression.

"Grey Warden," Isolde begged with tears falling down her face, "please don't hurt my son! He is not responsible for what he does!"

"So…your son is possessed…" Rose gaped.

"Please! Don't say that!" Isolde screamed.

"So the boy has become an abomination and sundered the Veil?" Morrigan pondered. "How interesting…"

"Connor didn't mean to do this! It was him, that… _vile_ mage!" Isolde shrieked and pointed at Jowan, who cringed. "He summoned the demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!"

"Like I told you, I didn't do it!" Jowan insisted.

Morrigan scoffed. "And made a deal with a demon to do so? Foolish child."

"It was a fair deal!" the possessed Connor objected. "Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"

"Nobody tells him what to do!" Bann Teagan echoed manically. "No-o-o-body! Ha ha!"

"Quiet, Uncle," the boy yelled at him. "I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes, I did.

"But let's keep things civil. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman, what have you come here for?"

Rose gave an uneasy glance to Revan, who nodded in encouragement. Revan could not answer the demon; to have someone besides Rose address it would merely anger it, and it seemed that Rose did not want to hurt the child that it inhabited.

"I...we need to see Arl Eamon," Rose responded.

"So you're a concerned well-wisher. Why didn't you say that in the first place?" the boy gave her an evil smile. "All this sneaking around and killing is so unnecessary! But Father is so very ill. We really shouldn't disturb him. Isn't that right, Mother?"

Isolde cringed, "I…I don't think—"

"Of course you don't think. Ever since you sent my knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it's getting dull. I crave excitement! And action! This woman—" Connor waved at Rose, "—spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she'll repay me!"

Connor ran away, but Revan wasn't able to see where, because a new horde of corpses, these in better shape than the others, had emerged from behind the curtains at the back of the room and from the side passages. She whipped out her blades and began fighting. Bann Teagan had joined the fray as well, his eyes glazed over as he recklessly attacked Rose, who tried her hardest not to hurt him. After a few minutes, Revan ended up back-to-back with Sten, and the two quickly cleared their area. Ser Perth and the mages made quick work of the other corpses, and Rose knocked Teagan over the head with the pommel of her family sword. He crumpled to the ground, and the fighting stopped.

Isolde rushed over and cradled Teagan's head. "Teagan! Teagan, are you all right?"

The Bann managed a moan, and his eyes flickered open.

The Arlessa looked up at the heavens, her face streaked with tear stains. "Blessed Andraste! I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here. What a fool I am!" She then looked up at Rose. "Please! Connor's not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!"

Alistair helped Bann Teagan to his feet as Rose stared compassionately at the distraught Arlessa. "I don't want to kill a child…"

"Connor is no longer a child," Jowan moved to stand by her. "He is an abomination."

"You!" Isolde hissed. "You did this to Connor!"

"I already told you! I didn't summon any demon! Please, I'm trying to help you!" Jowan pleaded.

"Help!?" Isolde yelled indignantly. "You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son, and in return you poisoned my husband!"

Teagan blinked blearily, trying to reorient himself. "This is the mage you spoke of? Didn't you say he was in the dungeon?"

"He was," Isolde responded in confusion. "I assumed the creatures had killed him by now. He must have been set free."

Revan spoke up, "I thought that, considering how he helped start this mess, he could help fix it."

"After everything he did, he should be executed!" Isolde protested.

"Your secrecy made his actions possible, Isolde," Teagan came to Revan's defense.

"But, I…"

Jowan hung his head. "I know what you must think of me, my lady. I took advantage of your fear. I am sorry. I…I never knew it would come to this."

"Well, I shan't turn away his help. Not yet. And if Connor is truly an abomination…" the Bann thought gloomily.

"I no longer think that is a question," Sten interjected.

"He's not always the demon you saw," Isolde spoke. "Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through. Please, I just want to protect him!"

Teagan, still leaning on Alistair, tried his best to give Isolde a scolding glare. "Isn't that what started this? You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret, to protect him."

"If they discovered Connor had magic, then they'd take him away!" Isolde broke down into tears again. A look of disgust crossed Sten's face. "I thought if he learned just enough to hide it, then…"

"Look, we need a plan. Jowan, what do think we should do?" Rose turned to the blood mage.

He looked at her, and a guilty expression crossed his face. "The demon in Connor needs to be destroyed. Killing Connor is…the easiest way to do that, certainly… But there is another way. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself."

"What do you mean?" Teagan interrupted. "Is the demon not within Connor?"

"Not physically," Jowan explained. "The demon…approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon."

Isolde's face lit up. "You can enter the Fade, then? And kill the demon without hurting my son?"

"No, but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages, but I have…blood magic."

Revan immediately understood what he was proposing. "No," she said firmly.

"I don't understand, what difference does that make?" Rose asked, puzzled.

"Lyrium provides the power for the ritual," Jowan described. "But I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of it, however. All of it, in fact."

"So…someone must die?" the Bann asked in horror. "Someone must be sacrificed?"

"No one will be sacrificed," Revan said coldly. "There is another option: we ask the Circle of Magi for help. They have plenty of lyrium and mages. And, besides, we have to go there anyway because of the treaties."

They all looked at Revan like she had spoken in Shyriiwook, the language of the Wookies. Then, suddenly, Rose's face lit as she realized the feasibility of her plan.

"The tower is about a day's journey across the lake, about two or three days on foot," Teagan stroked his goatee in thought. "You could attempt to get the mages' help…"

"But what will happen here?" Isolde wondered fearfully. "Connor will not remain passive forever!"

"You said yourself that the demon does not have complete control," Revan pointed out. "It will not be able to influence and control all the knights and militiamen if it is still fighting to control Connor. You should be able to keep him under control for a few days, especially if we leave Jowan here. Right?"

"Yes, that's a good plan," Teagan agreed. "If he wants to help, he can keep an eye on Connor with us. Go to the Tower quickly, then. The longer you are away, the greater the chances of disaster."

Rose gave him a curt nod, and, taking their leave of the Bann, Arlessa, and knights, the party departed the castle, fetched Leliana from the village Chantry, and set a brisk pace for the Circle of Magi. After Rose explained what had happened in the castle to Leliana, the party became hushed. A sense of foreboding settled over them, causing them to move at a faster pace than they normally moved. The countryside sped past as they traveled on the road north.

After a few hours of nonstop travelling, Rose commanded that they take a short break to get their breath back. Revan assumed that Rose was worried about the recovering Jedi, but she assured the young Warden that her weariness had passed a while before. Leliana distributed some cold lunch to them all, and Morrigan purified some water for them to drink. Revan accepted both gladly, though she was getting sick of cold rations.

Then, Revan noticed Sten staring out toward the lake, deep in thought. Revan took a seat next to him.

"Sten?" she asked in concern.

"It was around here that my platoon was ambushed," Sten stated, almost wistful. "I lost my sword here."

"Your sword?"

Sten nodded. "Without it, I am considered soulless. I will not be allowed to return to Par Vollen."

Revan jumped to her feet. A Jedi's lightsaber was similar, in a way. "Then we should try to find it, shouldn't we?" she grabbed the startled Sten and pulled him to his feet.

She told Rose that they were going to investigate something, and that they would catch up later. Then, Revan forced Sten to lead them to the site of the ambush. Sten looked uncomfortable, even a bit embarrassed, but he did not protest. They jogged through the aspen and pine trees for a few clicks until the big Qunari halted at a clearing. An old, abandoned stone cottage sat there, facing Lake Calenhad. Bones, picked clean by scavengers, littered the ground, along with broken bits of armor and clothing. One scavenger, however, remained: a dirty, grubby human male. He was picking through the refuse with a stick, muttering to himself in a slimy voice that made Revan want to throttle him. She had met scavengers like him before, and though she did not have a problem with recycling items from the fallen, these scavengers were little better than animals.

The scavenger saw them approach and hissed, "Back off! I was here first!"

Revan strode forward in blatant protest, Sten following behind. "Look, we'll leave, but I need to know: you haven't seen a sword lying around here, have you?"

He examined her carefully through beady, rat-like eyes. He asked eagerly, "Why? You looking to buy one?"

"No, but my very large, angry friend here is," Revan gestured to Sten, who, right on cue, crossed his arms and scowled at the man.

"Ah…is he?" the scavenger shrunk back. "Well…that's…see, I'd like to sell you one, but I don't…er…have any myself. I got part of a glove the wolves didn't chew too badly, though! At least, I think it was a glove, anyway…

"Don't say it: I got cheated. I knew the guy who was here before me. He sold me this spot. Said he'd found giants and all kinds of crazy valuables. He didn't mention that he'd taken everything but the bones and the dirt already. His name's Faryn. Squirrely little bastard, if you ask me. Which you didn't. But I said it anyway."

Revan raised an eyebrow. At least she was getting information out of him. "Where is he now?"

"He said he was going to Orzammar," the scavenger replied. "I imagine he's gotten there by now. If you find him, tell him I sent you! It'll scare the piss right out of him! Heh heh!"

Revan tossed him a coin and led Sten back toward the road. "Well, at least we've got a lead, now," she smiled at him.

"This merchant will not have it," Sten commented.

"He might, you never know," Revan said positively.

"You are an eternal optimist."

"I've had to be, to survive all the shit I've been through. Things have to work out, eventually."

Sten grunted, and they kept moving toward the road. Once they found the packed surface that passed for the highway, they broke into a fast jog in order to catch up with Rose and the others. It was sunset by the time they reached them, moving at a good, steady pace. Rose asked if they had found anything, and Revan shook her head. If Sten wanted to tell Rose what they had been looking for, he could, but it was not her duty to tell the Warden.

They then started talking about their progress. Sten estimated, from his memory of the place, that they were only an hour or two from the Circle Tower, if they kept up their fast pace. Rose sat and pondered this before Sten mentioned that there was a small town by the docks with an inn.

"Well, then we press on! Real beds, here we come!" Rose declared.

Though the rest of the group protested, they quickly quieted at the mention of beds. They set out again at a fast pace, eager to make the village before the light completely faded. And, as the last light faded, they all burst into through the door at the Spoiled Princess, as the inn was called. Rose sleepily pushed a pile of coins across the bar toward the innkeeper and asked for as many beds as he had. Puzzled, he slid back six keys, which Rose snatched and led the rest of them upstairs. She distributed the keys, and then she walked like a corpse into her own room and shut the door after Fuzzywuggins padded in after her. The rest of them followed suit and entered their respective rooms.

Revan didn't even bother to remove her leathers, instead collapsing into the bed face-first. Unfortunately, the bed was swarming with bedbugs, so first Revan used what little magic she had left to purify the bed. A white flame rose, consuming the bed, and the little specks of life in her second sight faded quickly. Then, the flame died and, truly exhausted now, Revan fell back into the bed and was asleep in seconds.

* * *

 

Revan woke feeling sore but refreshed. Luckily, she had not had any dreams of Urthemiel, but she had dreamt of the Deep Roads and the darkspawn. They did not scare her, but the massive size of the army that awaited them was enough to terrify even the most hardened warrior. She wondered how many broodmothers the Archdemon had made in preparation for this Blight. After all, he had had years to prepare for it.

Sighing, she rose and stretched her stiff muscles. Then, taking off her sweaty leather armor, she poured some water from the pitcher by her bed into the wash basin and attempted to freshen up. She was tempted to just run outside and jump in Lake Calenhad, but she did not think that nasty lake water would help any more. Then, feeling slightly cleaner, she headed down to the bar. It was still early, so the tavern proper was still relatively empty. The barkeep was tiredly wiping a mug with a stained rag, and Sten sat at a table in the corner in an attempt to be inconspicuous. Revan smiled to herself and took the seat opposite. About ten minutes later, Morrigan descended the stairs, stretching like a cat after a pleasant nap. The bartender stared at the strange, alluring girl as she pulled a chair up to the table and ordered breakfast for the three of them. The bartender immediately set to work, both in fear and in awe of the strange travelers.

As they ate, the other members of their party came down and joined them for breakfast. Alistair was itching all over; apparently, his bed had also been infected with bedbugs. Morrigan laughed hysterically as Revan cleansed him and tried to heal his skin as much as she could. The bartender was surprised to see that she was a mage, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. After everyone had eaten their hot, delicious meal of tavern food, Rose handed a bag of coins to the bartender, and they departed.

The sun shone behind them, making Lake Calenhad look like it was made of gold. The leaves of the trees, already turning color, rustled in the slight breeze. The air was quiet, interrupted on occasion by the chirping of swallows. However, despite the perfect morning, something felt wrong to Revan. Her suspicions grew after Rose returned from talking with a local villager, who said he used to man the ferry out to the Tower, but that his ship had been commandeered by the Templars. An uneasy feeling grew in Revan.

Indeed, the Templars had commandeered the little ferry out to the Tower. A single Templar stood on the docks, like a type of sentry. Rose took one glance at the small ferry and turned back to the group.

"It looks like only four of us can go," she announced. "Leliana, Morrigan, I want you two to take Fuzzywuggins and stay here and find out what you can about Loghain, the Dalish, and the dwarves so we won't be completely clueless when we go for those treaties. Alistair, Sten, Revan—let's go."

Morrigan and Leliana looked at each other in distaste, but they decided to not argue Rose's orders. Then, the four of them approached the Templar.

"You!" the Templar cried in a nasally voice. "You aren't looking to get across to the Tower, are you? Because I have strict orders not to let anyone pass!"

Rose put her hand on her hips. "I am a Grey Warden, and I seek the assistance of the mages."

"Oh, you're a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it," the Templar said snidely.

Rose reached back in her pack and extended the treaties. The Templar took one look at them, making Revan think that he might have been illiterate. Which would have been impossible, because from what Alistair had said, all Templars were required to be able to read.

"Oh, a Grey Warden seal. Ah ha. So you're claiming to be one of those. You know, I have some documents, too. They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?"

Rose frowned in confusion. Revan interjected in annoyance, "Aren't queens female, or did I miss some cultural point unique to Antiva?"

"Don't question royalty!" the Templar mocked. "Anyway, it was nice chatting with you. Now on your way. Right now. Go."

"Can't we work something out?" Alistair asked before Revan could use her Jedi mind tricks to sway him.

"Hmm…I don't know…" the Templar stroked his chin, "though, I am feeling a little peckish…"

" _Farsharaa_!" Sten swore and took something out of his pack and all but threw them at the Templar. "Here! Munch on these if you like."

His face lit up: "Ooh, cookies!"

"I am content to part with them if it saves us from this fool," Sten said, his face showing only annoyance.

Revan guffawed in shock and Rose stared at him, even more puzzled.

"Where…where did you get those?" Revan said as she tried to get back her breath.

"There was a child—a fat, slovenly thing—in the village. I relieved him of these confections. He didn't need them anymore."

In horror, Rose asked, "You stole cookies from a child!?"

"For his own good," Sten assured her.

Revan snorted. "Where was _I_?"

"Sleeping."

The Templar finished off the cookies. "Mmm, yummy. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, yes? We can go across now, if you really want."

The four climbed in, Sten rocking the ferry violently as he did so. Then, the Templar pulled them across, toward the large tower that protruded from the lake like a giant pillar holding up the heavens. Revan looked at it, wondering if she would have ended up in that Tower, had she been born on this planet. They pulled in to a sort of cave, and, after they gingerly stepped off the craft and Sten threw the annoying Templar into the lake as repayment for the loss of his beloved cookies, ascended a flight of stairs worn into the rock that led into the Tower proper. They entered into a room, decorated with columns on multiple sides. To the right was a giant set of thick, enchanted doors barred with a heavy crossbar. An older Templar stood in the center of the room, handing out orders to his men, who were bustling about with vigor. The fear in the room was palpable to Revan; something was very wrong.

Upon seeing them, the Templar—the Knight-Commander, Revan presumed from her studies of Thedas' culture—looked alarmed at their presence.

"Who are you? I explicitly told Carroll not to bring anyone across the lake! We are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety."

Rose put on her most charming, reassuring smile. "You must be Knight-Commander Greagoir, yes? I am Rose, and these are my companions. I am a Grey Warden, and I am here to get the mages to fulfill their obligation to their Grey Wardens. But, what is the situation?"

Greagoir sighed wearily. "I shall speak plainly: the Tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the Tower's halls."

"This is why we cut the tongues from mages, in Par Vollen," Sten observed.

"I will admit to agreeing with your companion," Greagoir ran his hand through his gray hair. "Maker knows the Qunari would not have gotten themselves into this position."

Revan shot Sten a dirty look while Rose asked, "How did this happen?"

"We don't know. We saw only the demons, hunting Templars and mages alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee."

"A wise move," Revan observed. "I would have done the same."

"They took us by surprise," Greagoir continued. "We were prepared for one or two abominations…not the horde that fell upon us."

"Do you have a plan?" Rose wondered.

Greagoir turned stormy. "I would destroy the Tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and they will protect us for now."

"You shut everyone in there? Including innocent mages?"

"Not just mages," Greagoir looked away uncomfortably, "but my Templars also. I had no choice. The abominations must be contained at all costs. We do not mean for the doors to stay closed forever. Everything in the Tower must be eliminated. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment."

Alistair's face fell into horror. Rose looked between the Knight-Commander and the former Templar in confusion.

Upon seeing her face, Greagoir explained, "The Right of Annulment gives Templars…the authority to neutralize the Mage Circle. Completely. This situation is dire. There is no alternative—everything in the Tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again."

Revan's emotions grew dark. "There is always an alternative."

"If there was, do you not think that I would have chosen it?" Greagoir argued. "There are only abominations left in this Tower. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find…nothing."

"Then you don't have to hope: I will for you," Revan spoke, clenching her fists. "If I have to, I will go in there and search myself. You underestimate the power of mages."

Surprisingly, Sten spoke up with her. "It seems pointless to have come all this way for nothing. I suppose we must try, now that we are here."

"I agree," Rose also said. "It is the right thing to do."

"What about me? Do I get no say in this?" Alistair protested and was promptly ignored.

Greagoir examined their faces, his eyes lingering on Revan's scars. "A word of caution: once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter himself stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving falls…then the Circle is lost…and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage."

Rose gave him a curt nod, warrior to warrior, before leading them to the great doors. The Templars seemed rather sorry to open the doors for them, as if they were sealing their fate by opening the doors. Revan wondered if she was leading her friends to their deaths, but she could not imagine just leaving the mages to their fate. Inside the doors, however, a gruesome scene met them. The walls were smeared with blood and gore. Magical fires burned in corners, and the bodies of Templars and mages dotted the corridors. The stench was similar to the rotting smell of corpses in Redcliffe, but with a tad more of an iron smell to it. Revan had to wonder what kind of demons these were. The gore and multitude of bodies made Revan wonder if the Knight-Commander had been right, that there really were no survivors.

Then, they came to a clean room. Young apprentices huddled together, observed by two, teenage apprentices. Revan almost cried out in relief that there were survivors, but settled instead for a sigh. An older, female mage was standing in front of a large magical barrier. She spun around, the folds of her robes sweeping the floor, and glared at the group.

"It's you!" she said, assuming a defensive stance. "No, come no further. Grey Wardens or no, I will strike you down where you stand!"

"Wynne?" Revan gasped as she recognized the woman from Ostagar. "What…you're alive!"

Wynne's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here? The Templars would not let just anyone by."

"We're helping Greagoir resolve the Circle's difficulties," Alistair answered bitterly.

"Then you do serve the Templars, as I feared," Wynne shook her head as Revan shot another dirty look, this time to Alistair. "Do they have the Right of Annulment?"

"No, but Greagoir expects it to arrive soon," Rose admitted.

Wynne's eyes filled with sadness. "So, Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we are all dead. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"What happened here? The Templars do not know," Rose asked.

"Let it suffice to say that we had something of a revolt on our hands, led by a mage named Uldred," Wynne said bitterly. "When he returned from the battle at Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see, it didn't work out as he had planned. I don't know what became of Uldred, but I am certain all this is his doing. I will not lose the Circle to one man's pride and stupidity."

"Agreed," Revan spoke up. "We want to help you save as many mages as we can. I want them to invoke this Right as much as you want them to."

The elder mage gave her a small smile. "I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the Tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. You will not be able to enter the Tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle, Grey Wardens."

Rose nodded her agreement, and, with a roll of his eyes, Alistair consented, "Yes, yes, fine, we'll help you."

"Once Greagoir sees that we have made the Tower safe," Wynne continued, "I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable."

"I believe the Knight-Commander said he will only accept it if the First Enchanter says so," Sten added.

"Then our path is laid out before us. We must save Irving." Wynne turned to the older apprentices. "Petra, Kinnon…look after the others. I will be back soon."

"Wynne…" the girl apprentice, Petra, asked in concern, "are you sure you're all right? You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along…"

"The others need your protection more. I will be all right. Stay here with them, keep them safe and calm," Wynne instructed. Turning back to the Wardens, she added, "Let us go end this. I am somewhat amazed at myself for having kept it in place so long. It made me very weary at times, but I had to stay strong, to keep us safe."

She turned back to the barrier and, closing her eyes in concentration, she absorbed the magic back into herself in a stream of bright blue mana. It was an impressive display, and the entire air seemed alight with magic. Then, there barrier was gone, and they plunged into the depths of the Tower.

Inside was just as horrid as before. Bodies lay in pools of their own blood, eyes glazed open in the agony of death. Luckily, Revan was acclimated to this type of horrifying violence; Rose, however, was studiously avoiding the twisted bodies. The library was where they encountered their first abominations. The things attacked by rising from the floor and trying to terrify them so they could overwhelm the group. Seeing as that didn't work, the abominations, mutilated corpses of mages and Templars with grotesque lumps of flesh and demolished faces, attacked them with the weapons of their bodies' former owners and with magic. Revan drew her dual blades, not thinking close quarters packed with flammable paper was a good place for a lightsaber, and began carving up the abominations with vigor. These abominations, however, were in fresher bodies than the corpses at Redcliffe, and thus were a lot more difficult to kill. Revan had to erect a shield with the both the Force and her magic in order to avoid all the magical attacks the abominations were throwing her way. Apparently, the abominations were singling out her and Wynne, probably due to their magic. Rose and Alistair had taken positions defending Wynne, while Sten chopped up abominations near her. Upon their deaths, the monsters exploded in flame, giving them all small burns and temporarily blinding them. Revan mentally decided never to make any kind of deal with a demon if this would be her fate.

After the last corpse had exploded, Revan wiped the sweat off her brow and looked around. The library, though demolished, vaguely reminded her of the Jedi archives: massive book shelves lined and protruded from the walls, going all the way up to the ceiling. Piles of books and scrolls covered the floor and tables. She could have spent years reading all the material in the room. But, they moved on to the next floor, where they approached a storage room just to find another survivor as he exited the room and closed the door.

The man looked at them with dead eyes, and the sign of the Chantry was tattooed onto his forehead: a Tranquil. A pang of pity went through Revan; she would not wish that fate on anyone, not even the most atrocious Sith or maleficar. The Tranquil were shells inhabited by one rational conscious, and lived only to serve, like slaves.

"Please, refrain from going into the stockroom. It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen," the Tranquil said with detached concern.

"Who are you?" Rose asked in relief at finding another survivor.

"I am called Owain, and I manage the Circle's magical stockroom. I was trying to tidy up, but there was little I could do."

"Don't you want to get out of here?" Alistair questioned.

The Tranquil turned his unnerving gaze towards the former Templar. "I tried to leave, when things got quiet. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work."

"Owain, you should have said something," Wynne insisted. "I would have opened the barrier for you."

"The stockroom is familiar; I prefer to be here," he told her.

"Haven't you come across abominations?" Rose wondered.

Owain blinked in thought before saying, "No. I suppose I should count myself lucky. I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if the Tower returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all."

"And what is this Niall trying to do?" Revan encouraged the Tranquil.

"I do not know, but he came here with several others and took the Litany of Adralla."

Wynne frowned. "But that protects from mind domination. Is blood magic at work here?"

"I do not know," Owain repeated.

Wynne bit her lip in thought as she pondered, "Niall was in the meeting. He would know. Blood magic…I was afraid of this."

"I'm sure we can handle blood magic," Rose reassured her.

"We should find Niall," Wynne suggested. "The Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter."

Owain met Rose's eyes. "I wish you luck. Perhaps this will be over soon and things will return to the way they were. Goodbye."

They continued moving through the layers of the Circle, weary for abominations and now maleficarum. Soon enough, they encountered a group of blood mages recuperating in a study alcove. The blood mages glared at them in anger and sliced open their arms, their own blood serving as the link between them and the Fade. Thus, they were as strong as some higher demons, and much more difficult to kill. They also tried to use their blood to break their opponent's will, much like a Sith. Revan had fought enough Sith to know how to shield her mind completely. However, she worried about the others. Wynne was right: if this Litany of Adralla would help shield their minds, they needed to get their hands on it. As Sten countered a blow from one of the blood mages, Revan chopped the mage's staff in two before thrusting her other blade through the side of his chest. One down, two to go. Alistair and Wynne killed the other man with a combination of magic and metal. Rose took on the last, who was not putting up much of a fight. Rose caught her with a blow to the stomach, and the maleficar fell to the ground. The last, a woman, clutched her bloody body and groaned. Revan looked at the woman in pity; what had caused this poor mage to turn to something so dangerous?

"Please!" the blood mage begged. "Please, don't kill me."

Rose crossed her arms. "Oh? Tell me why I should spare your life, considering how many you've killed."

The woman looked up at the Warden. "I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn't mean for this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves. Uldred told us that the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry. You don't know what it was like. The Templars were watching, always watching…"

So she was a pawn. Revan shook her head in pity.

"But why turn to forbidden magic?" Rose wondered.

"The magic was a means to an end. It gave us…it gave me the power to fight for what I believed."

"Fighting for what you believe is commendable, but the ends do not always justify the means," Wynne preached, reminding Revan of Bastila.

The mage looked at Wynne. "You don't really believe that, do you, Wynne? Change rarely comes peacefully. Andraste waged war on the Imperium; she didn't write them a strongly worded letter. She reshaped civilization, freed the slaves, and gave us the Chantry. But people died for it. We thought…someone always has to take the first step, force a change, no matter the cost."

Wynne looked at the woman in distaste and said, "Nothing is worth what you've done to this place."

"And now Uldred's gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs…" the maleficar sighed.

"And all you do is wallow in self-pity. Pathetic," Sten added.

"What else can I do? I'm trapped here," she refuted.

Rose glanced at Revan, knowing that she had accepted the Jedi, though she had done much more than just use blood magic. Finally, she sighed. "I will not help you escape, but I will spare you, so you can repent. On one condition: you give up blood magic."

The blood mage staggered to her feet, and then nodded her agreement. "Thank you. The Maker will surely turn His eyes on you for your mercy!" Then, she staggered away, clutching her side as the blood ran down her robes.

"Are you sure that was wise?" Alistair asked, before receiving dirty looks from both Revan and Rose. He shrunk back. "Just wondering."

They continued their way. Abominations would randomly rise from the ground or fall from the ceilings, sometimes even emerge from the walls, and attack them. It seemed to Revan that they were stuck in between the physical world and the Fade. They also began encountering more blood mages, and Revan was forced to concentrate more on shielding everyone's minds instead of fighting. The blood mages were all Circle mages, their eyes filled with hate and their arms mutilated with cuts. Some were almost as disfigured as the abominations they fought alongside.

The party encountered the largest group of abominations and maleficarum in a large, open room supported by columns and lined with benches and bookshelves packed with a variety of items. Revan assumed that this must be a lecture hall of some kind. The abominations crawled out of the columns and floor. Fire exploded around them from the oil soaked carpets as the blood mages shot balls of fire at them. And then, much to her dismay, she spotted a demon, a powerful one, since it did not wear a corpse in order to remain in the physical world. From the looks of it, it was a desire demon, scantily clad with purple eyes that glowed vilely, with an impressive rack of horns and a scaly tail that flicked back and forth restlessly. The demon, sensing her power, stared at her before evilly smiling. Then, in a fit of cruelty, the demon changed form in a flash of light, and there stood Carth, with the demon's purple eyes still glowing as he stared at her. Revan's blood boiled in rage, even as some part of her brain warned her that the demon was just goading her. As her friends attacked the other abominations and blood mages, she charged the demon, the blood lust in her building intolerably. The demon nimbly moved out of the way. Revan swung again, trying to tear the demon into bits. The demon just smiled with Carth's precious face, as if it was a game to it.

The demon kept dodging her attacks, moving back until Revan had cornered it against a wall. Then, the demon laughed, grabbed Revan's wrist faster than she thought possible, and dragged her forward, into the wall. Revan felt herself falling through the floors. Before she hit the ground, Revan caught herself, using the Force to counteract gravity. As she scrambled to her feet, the demon, back in its regular form, slowly descended from the ceiling. It glared at her disagreeably, as if it had hoped she would have died upon impact. Then, it snapped its fingers, and a dozen of its subordinate abominations fell from the ceiling and landed in a circle around Revan.

"Die," the demon hissed, and the abominations attacked.

Revan cursed herself for being goaded so easily. Even with her powers, she had little chance of defeating both the abominations and the demon by herself. She twirled and twisted her blades as fast as she could, but the abominations were closing in around her. That, and the demon was laughing cruelly and shooting bolts of magic at her, causing her to dodge both its ranged attacks and the abominations' swords.

All of a sudden, the demon was knocked down by a bolt of magic. Some of the abominations surrounding her froze, and she shattered them with a hit from her sword. The unknown mage burst into view, a male, probably in his early twenties, with a slight five o'clock shadow and piercing ice-blue eyes. He bore a strong resemblance to someone Revan knew, but it escaped her as she returned to fending off the monsters. He continued blasting the demon with magic channeled from his staff to keep it down and neutral as Revan dispatched the rest of the abominations. She slashed one in half, then decapitated it. She plunged her blade into the stomach of one while cleaving the head from another, then kicked the impaled one off her sword. The last she chopped down at the legs, and as it fell to the ground, she stabbed it in the heart. Then, with only the demon left, she offered the mage the hilt of her dragonbone sword.

"I think you deserve the honors," she told the mage.

He looked at her, then the blade, and, taking the sword awkwardly, thrust it into the demon's chest with all his strength. The demon exploded, and the two were left in the room, breathless but otherwise practically unharmed, except for a few cuts, bruises, and burns. He handed the sword back to her and, running his fingers through his hair, glanced around the demolished room. Potions lay broken on the floor, books were scattered about haphazardly, and page fragments floated down to the ground along with powdery dust. The mage sighed loudly.

"Thank you," Revan said as she stared at him, trying to place who he looked like.

"Yeah…" the mage looked back at her and extended his hand. "Daylen Amell, at your service."

"Revan…Onasi," she responded, "a pleasure."

They shook hands. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then they both ended up giggling from nerves.

"Well, Revan, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. But, I have to ask…why the hell was a desire demon chasing you!?"


	11. Act XI

Act XI: The Circle Tower

"You seriously had no idea that the Tower had been overrun by abominations!?" Revan asked incredulously. She had just finished telling Daylen, the mage that had saved her from a desire demon, about the fate of the Circle of Magi. The entire time, his face had worn a look of shock. Apparently, he hadn't even noticed the destruction and death happening in the Tower.

Daylen shook his head. "I've been in the storage rooms this entire time. I was cataloging items in the back, and those rooms are enchanted, since some of the items are extremely sensitive. I only figured out that something was wrong because of this ," he pulled a small orb from his pocket. "It glows whenever demons are near. That was how I found you."

"Hmm," Revan mumbled. "But…you aren't Tranquil, so why are you working in the storage rooms?"

Daylen winced, and they walked in silence for a bit. After she had told him that she needed to find the First Enchanter, Irving, he had immediately agreed to help her get back to her friends and find him. He had said that he "had a debt to repay." Apparently, Revan had fallen into the lower floors of the Tower, into the storage facilities. Daylen had said there were some back passages that the Tranquil used to move between the less-used storage rooms and the stockrooms, so he had led her towards one of them. They passed through rooms filled with all sorts of magical items and appliances and books and potions. Almost everything glowed with enchantment and magic in her second sight, slowly giving her a headache. She wished that she knew what half of the items did, so she could see if anything would be of use to them. Revan hoped that, if anything would have been of use, Daylen would point it out.

Finally, he spoke up. "Working down here…it's my punishment. I…I did something pretty bad."

"What? Did you make a deal with a demon to learn blood magic?" Revan said, half joking.

Daylen frowned. "No, I…helped a blood mage escape."

Revan chuckled, then laughed loudly as Daylen looked at her in confusion. She explained, "Dear Daylen, I have done much worse. In fact, in the last forty-eight hours, I have helped free two blood mages. I don't think what you did is such a terrible crime. Besides, Jowan, the first blood mage I freed, was actually charged with attempted murder. Trust me, there are worse things than aiding maleficarum."

"Jowan!?" he spun on her. "You know Jowan?"

She tilted her head to the side and responded, "Yes…why? Was he the one you aided?"

The mage's eyes burned with fury. "I didn't know he was a blood mage, at first," Daylen explained. "I had just gone through the Harrowing, the ritual all apprentices go through to see if they have the will to resist demons. I survived, so I was made a full mage of the Circle. However, Jowan hadn't been summoned yet to go through the Harrowing, even though he had been in the Circle about as long as I had. He was worried that, because of the rumors that he was a blood mage, they would make him Tranquil. I just thought that the rumors were just silly rumors, so I dismissed them completely. He was my friend, after all. And then Jowan showed up with this Sister from the Circle Chantry and said they were in love…" Daylen shook his head. "I felt bad for them. I agreed to help Jowan destroy his phylactery, the vial of blood that the Templars can use to track escaped mages. The three of us found it and destroyed it, but when we emerged from the basement, Irving and Greagoir were there, waiting for us. That was when Jowan revealed that he was actually a blood mage. He caused an explosion, and he fled in the aftermath.

"After, Greagoir demanded I be made Tranquil for my crime of assisting a blood mage in his escape, even if I hadn't known of his true nature. 'You must be made an example of,' he said. 'No one can help a mage escape, or else they will face the consequences.' Well, Greagoir left it to Irving to make me Tranquil, but Irving took pity on me, saying how I could have been such a great asset to the Circle because of how powerful I was. Then I told my story, and he believed me and thought that I had been influenced by Jowan's blood magic. So, he sent me down here, allowing me to keep my abilities, but forbidding me from interacting in the normal affairs of the Circle.

"I haven't seen the Sister, or my teachers, since," he finished. "And I still want to throttle Jowan, just a bit, even though I realize why he did what he did. But I owe a debt to Irving for sparing me, so I need to save him."

Revan nodded slowly. "Does Greagoir know you are still a mage?"

Daylen shook his head no. Revan pondered this.

"Well, if he does not accept you back, I will vouch for you personally," Revan told him. "And I can be _very_ persuasive."

The mage gave her a bright smile in thanks, reminding Revan of someone…but she still couldn't place it. And he was _so_ familiar…

"So, what is your story, Grey Warden?" he asked. "It must be pretty interesting, considering you think freeing maleficarum no big deal."

Revan gave him a sad smile. "It's a long, painful story, and far worse than yours."

"Well, the trek through the Tower is quite long, even considering what good time we're making," Daylen pointed out. "And I don't really care what you've done in the past, if you don't care what I've done in mine."

Revan examined the mage to see if he was telling the truth. His dark eyes sparkled with intelligence, but there was compassion in them, too. His strong jaw suggested a stubborn attitude, and his scruffy beginnings of a beard bespoke a sort of indifference or carelessness. He walked with an air of confidence, as if he knew who he was and what he was doing. All in all, he seemed like an honest man, one that would give her a chance. And, nothing in their conversation suggested otherwise.

So, she began by explaining that she came from a land "across the sea," where magic was weaker, and few entered the Fade. Mages, she said, were also taught to be warriors, and she had been a general in a war. During the war, she had gotten word that there was a land with powerful magic unlike that of her land. So, she had set sail to Thedas. However, she had crashed upon its shores, and her mind had been taken in by the Fade. Unaware of what was happening, Revan had made a deal with a being to free its physical form in return for the power to end the war in her land. She told of how she journeyed into the Deep Roads and, finding the body of the Archdemon, had awoken it. She had gotten the power, but too late she realized how horrible the bargain had been. The Archdemon had tricked her and had begun the Blight. She then told him about returning to her land, using her powers to conquer all, and then, losing her memories, found her way back to Thedas, just to crash again and regain her memories. She spoke of her adoption by the Dalish, and then her attempt at redemption by joining the Grey Wardens. She recapped the recent events, including their trip to Redcliffe, and then told of how they came to the Tower. Then, she stopped talking and waited for Daylen's reaction.

The mage stared ahead blankly, obviously surprised. But, he kept walking, which Revan took as a good sign.

"Ah," he finally managed. "I…wow."

Revan looked at the ground. Seeing her, Daylen quickly began speaking.

"It's not…okay, look. We used to have a philosophy class, where our teacher was supposed to teach us the morals of the Chantry, but instead he let us argue out our own beliefs. One day, he asked us if a child who had been raised in the wild and taught to kill his rivals in order to survive came to society and murdered one of his peers, a rival, should face the same punishment as a murderer. One of my friends, a fellow named Finn, always said yes, while Jowan and another mage we called Anders always argued that the child didn't know better, so shouldn't be punished."

Revan examined him out of the corner of her eye. "And you?"

He shot her a reassuring smile. "I always argued that, because the child didn't know any better, the child should face some sort of punishment—a lesser one—to be taught that such things are wrong. I think you are like that child: you had no knowledge of the Archdemons and the Blights. And I think you're punishing yourself enough by being a Grey Warden. I've read enough to know that the experience is not always pleasant. I mean, it's horrible, but…it's hard to imagine you doing something like that now."

Revan returned a sad smile. "That is a very enlightened view, one few would have after hearing that I was the cause for the destruction of their homes and deaths of their friends and family."

"Well, I am a very enlightened person," Daylen said comically. "But what of this magic in your land? How is it different? Is it stronger, weaker, and where does it come from?"

Thus began a long conversation between the two as they discussed the differences between the magic of Thedas and the Force abilities of those outside Thedas. Revan told him what she knew, including the special abilities, such as an increased mental performance and increased physical abilities, that Force-users experienced. She also spoke of the Force itself, which made Daylen very ponderous. They debated which was stronger, and ended up concurring that the Force was weak in Thedas, so magic must be weak outside Thedas. Then, Daylen suggested that the Force might actually be the Fade, but the Veil outside Thedas might be stronger, causing a different set of abilities. Revan was about to respond when a demon finally found them.

It shrieked at them, and Daylen glared at it in something between distaste and annoyance. With a nod to Revan, he blasted it with a petrifying spell, and Revan dashed toward it to shatter it with her swords. The attack worked, and the demon exploded in a rain of small sand granules. However, the shriek had alerted the other abominations in the area, and soon the two were fighting their way up the flights of stairs that led to the floors above, where hopefully, they would find Rose and Irving. Soon, giving they were fighting up, a very bad tactical situation, Revan was sweating, and she sponsored a variety of longer, deeper scratches than before. Luckily, her enchanted leathers patched themselves as soon as they were hit, but that did not help her bleeding cuts. Daylen was a great asset, blasting abominations with powerful magical attacks that Revan could only envy. Daylen would have no problem setting a lake on fire if he wanted to. He often set the demons on fire, or created an ice storm that surrounded the monsters and froze them while impaling them with ice shards. Revan was left to just keeping the abominations away from him.

At last, they reached the top of the stairs. Tired, Revan opened the door, revealing a room full of alchemical supplies and a long, wooden table covered with experiments and scrolls was pushed to the side. Most of the other furniture was destroyed. However, a lone, thick, black tome lay on the table, sheets of notes scattered about it. The tome seemed out of place to Revan, and she approached it, enraptured. A tree was embossed on its cover. Revan opened the cover, just to quickly snatch the book off the table.

"What?" Daylen noticed her startled reaction.

Revan stuffed the book in her pack. "This belongs to…to someone I know. It was stolen. I should return it."

Revan neglected to mention that the book had been written completely in Galactic Basic. The book was obviously Flemeth's Grimoire, a book where mages write down their spells and experiments and enchantments. Perhaps Revan could use it to glean her motives. Or, she could give it to Morrigan. But, it should not be examined and deciphered by these Circle mages. It was much too dangerous.

Now in the Tower proper, the two made their way through cautiously, but it seemed that Rose and the group had already passed through and destroyed most of the abominations and blood mages. Regardless, Daylen removed the demon-detecting orb from his pocket and held it out, just in case.

On a higher floor, the orb did begin to glow, and violently. Daylen had to stuff it in his pocket to preserve their eyes. Then, he and Revan exchanged worried glances. Obviously, the demon was powerful. Revan hoped that Rose and the others were okay, because this was the only route to the upper floors of the Tower, and they had not encountered any signs of their bodies. They would have to go through this demon, whatever it was.

"There is a stockroom a little ways that way," Daylen gestured to his left. "There might be some supplies there we can use against this…abomination. You go scout ahead."

Revan gave him a curt nod in understanding, and they split up. She continued down the hall, until her second sight perceived the life signs of several forms in a room farther ahead. She rushed towards them before she noticed that there was a stronger force emanating near the life forms, glowing incredibly bright: the demon. But, curiosity and worry got the better of her. She had to see if those bodies were of her friends.

She pushed open the ajar door. Sure enough, Rose, Alistair, Sten, and Wynne were splayed out on the ground, along with another mage. A tall, gross abomination stood nearby, as if sleeping on its feet. The room was even more disgusting than the ones previous, as fleshy pockets covered the pillars and statues like hideous sacks. The demon took notice of her, and his one eye flicked lazily in her direction, almost uninterested. Revan drew her swords and gritted her teeth.

"What have you done to them?" she demanded.

The demon tilted its head, and Revan realized it was a Sloth demon. "They are resting. And you…you look very tired as well, feeble Jedi. Why don't you join them? Just lie down, close your eyes…"

Revan felt her eyelids getting tired and drooping. Her legs began to sag. She realized that the demon was using magic to influence her mind, like a Jedi. She formed a barrier around her mind, but the demon was far stronger than her alone. It ripped through her mind, and, through the forced exhaustion it caused her to slump to the ground and black out. She tried crying out as she slipped into the Fade, under control of the demon, but it was too late. It was over.

* * *

 

When she awoke, she was in a room, sleeping in a feathery bed, her hand resting on a warm chest; her cheek was nestled against a sculpted shoulder. She felt a pain in her head, but it quickly faded. Dimly, she wondered how she had gotten here. The world around her, and her thoughts, were fuzzy. Hadn't she been somewhere else? Doing something important? No; she had not done anything so rash in years. She let the thought go. The man's chest rose and fell evenly, still asleep. She felt warm, secure…she didn't want to move, or get out of bed. Then, she looked at his face.

Carth.

Revan stopped breathing, as if she had forgotten how. Carth. Here. With her. She couldn't believe it. And yet…the muscles in his chest, the familiar, scruffy chin, his soft breaths…

He stirred under her hand. Turning onto his side, he opened his eyes and looked at her tenderly. With his free hand, he ran his fingers along her jaw, then traced the scars running across her face. She shivered at the contact, but her eye stared into his face, memorizing every detail. A sense of happiness filled her being, so profound that it almost hurt. Then, to make the moment perfect, he leaned over and planted his lips on hers and kissed her deeply. She breathed in his scent deeply, ignoring his morning breath while he also breathed in her scent. Then he pulled away and smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Well, good morning to you, too," he teased.

She smiled back broadly before reaching up, grabbing a fist full of his hair, and dragging him back down.

A while later, now sweaty under the sheets, and impossibly blissful, she rose from the bed and took a shower in the small bathroom in their quarters. The warm water ran through her hair and down her back. Then Carth was there, massaging the shampoo into her scalp, kissing her neck tenderly. Perfect.

His eyes twinkling in amusement after their shower, Carth left her to change and went to make breakfast. Revan sighed profoundly after he left; she had never felt happier in her life. No more would she have to experience pain and exhaustion as she fought to save everyone else's happiness. She had finally found her own. It had taken a lifetime, but she had finally found it.

Now changed into some simple garments, she joined Carth in their kitchen. He was actually cooking, not merely dehydrating some prepackaged food. She kissed him on the cheek as he leaned over the stove before going to make some tea for them both. That was the one good thing she had learned from being on…Revan paused. The memory had eluded her. She shrugged it off as a relapse of her mind replant and continued working, talking to Carth about the repairs on Telos as they worked. There was still so much to be done on the world that Carth, and now she, called home. After Malak had bombed it to rubble, the world had been all but destroyed. Now, however, it had grown back into a flourishing colony world yet again. Of course, some areas needed to still be re-terraformed, which required a huge effort on the part of the community, and thus on Revan and Carth. However, both of them enjoyed working on rebuilding Telos.

They moved to their little table, nestled directly under a window that overlooked the bright blue lake near the city. Golden sunlight streamed through the window as they ate and talked and laughed. Carth. Revan had not realized how much she loved him.

As they cleaned dishes, there was a knock on the door. Revan went and answered, just to be embraced by a girl of about eight, with the same red-shining dark hair as her, but Carth's eyes: their daughter. Revan hugged her back and told her to go help her father with the dishes. Lyna obediently obliged. She had been escorted by Dustil, her stepson, and Mission, the young, blue Twi'lek who hung onto his arm lovingly. They were not far apart in age, and after their many adventures after the destruction of the Star Forge, the two had fallen in love. Now old enough, they planned to marry in the early summer. Revan warmly invited them in.

The three of them took a seat in the living room, and soon Carth joined them with a tray of tea. Lyna was sleeping off the night's adventures with her half-brother and future sister-in-law. Dustil told them of their journey to the sparring rings and to the zoological park, mentioning her fascination with gizkas. Revan and Carth exchanged amused glances. There was no way either of them would allow their daughter to get a gizka.

Then, unexpectedly, there was another knock on the door. Revan rose to see who it was, only to discover a worried, armored red-head with brooding eyes standing at the door. _Rose_ , she remembered. Revan tilted her head and blinked in surprise.

"R…Rose!" Revan exclaimed. "How…but nevermind! You're here! Please, come inside."

"Revan…?" the girl wondered in confusion. "Revan! No, no. We have to leave."

"But I insist!" Revan opened the door further. "We were just having tea."

Rose stared at her in shock. " _Tea_? Revan, this is the Fade! Don't you remember the Sloth demon?"

"Demon? What are you talking about?" she asked, puzzled. "Such things happened so long ago…"

Rose grabbed her shoulders. "This…life isn't real, Revan. You were trapped here by the Sloth demon. We're in the Circle Tower, remember? You have to realize that this is a dream!"

"This is a pretty perfect dream, then," the Jedi responded.

"Dear, who's at the door?" Carth called from inside.

Revan swiveled her head and called back, "It's Rose! The girl I told you about!"

A few seconds later, Carth stood by her and put his arm around her shoulders. He then extended his hand toward Rose. "A pleasure, Rose. I'm Carth Onasi."

Rose swatted his hand away in annoyance. "This isn't real!" she cried.

"The Fade, Revan. It twists your mind. The Sloth demon wants to lure you into complacency. Think! We're trying to save the Circle from Uldred! We're in Ferelden, Revan!"

The memories started coming back to her. The gore. The abominations. The blood mages. The dead bodies. The memories were hazy, however, as if she was trying to remember a dream…or was this the dream, as Rose suggested. The world seemed to fight her, so on instinct she fought back and tried to remember.

Carth gripped her arm. "What is she going on about, love?"

Then, suddenly, Lyna was at her waist, gripping her about the middle. "You wouldn't leave me, would you, Mama?"

"You…aren't my daughter," Revan realized. "Grey Wardens cannot have children…right?"

Lyna's eyes filled with tears as she pulled away. "You don't…love me anymore, Mama?"

At seeing the distraught child, Revan lost her concentration. She dropped to her knees and embraced her daughter. "No, no, I love you, sweetie. Mama's just having a relapse, that's all. Mama loves you."

"Revan," Rose called softly. "She's not real. Please."

Lyna clutched Revan tighter, her little nails digging into her neck. "You will never leave me, right, Mama?"

Revan's eye flashed open; there had been a faint second voice behind the sweet voice of her daughter. Demon. Revan pulled away and drew the sword that somehow hung around her waist. Then, she was back in her leathers, facing the shades that had taken on the forms of the people she loved. Tears formed in her eye as she extended her sword in warning.

"Why?" Revan cried, moving her sword between Carth and Lyna. "Have I not suffered enough!?"

The house, the scenery, faded, revealing the dismal background of the Fade. The sky swirled with thick, grey-green clouds that reminded Revan of a sickness. They were on an island, the green and brown land a poor copy of real land. Dark trees curved up from the edges, and floating in the distance was the Black City—the center of the Fade—the center of the disease. The tears blurred her eyesight as much as the distorted atmosphere.

"We can't let you leave," the shade of Mission approached.

"Please…don't make me do this…" Revan pleaded. Rose took a stance beside her, holding her shield in front of her, her sword by her side.

But instead, Lyna shrieked a shrill battle cry, and the four attacked. She cut down the shades of those she loved as she cried. The shades were weak, being servants of the Sloth demon, but they were not as sluggish as she was in the Fade. Lyna was first, with her tiny hands and wild eyes. Revan decapitated her, and the shade dissolved into black mist. Rose took care of Dustil as Revan slashed Mission in half. Then, all that was left was Carth. He tried drawing his blaster, but, seeing as it was an invention of the Fade, it was only a crude imitation of a real blaster, making its bolts easy to dodge. Revan quickly disarmed him and, with a twirl of her blade, held Naga Sadow's poison blade to his chest. His eyes were the feral orbs of a shade, not the eyes of the man she loved. Then, she ran him through, and he dissolved into dust. Revan stood there, staring at the spot where Carth had been, and the tears streaked her face and fell onto the ground. Rose put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"You really wanted to stay, didn't you?" she asked.

The Jedi nodded numbly.

"Even Alistair wasn't as difficult to convince as you…" Rose trailed off. "Was that…"

"Carth, the man I love," Revan answered. "And the daughter I could have had, if I had not come here, to Thedas."

Rose bit her lip in sympathy. After a minute, she finally said, "Come on, we have to defeat the Sloth demon to escape."

The young Warden began walking in the direction of a Fade pedestal that would take them to another part of the Fade. Revan tried to follow, but after a few steps the world began to get blurrier than before. Everything started to get black, and the last thing Revan saw before she was consumed was Rose as she looked back in sympathy. Apparently, Rose had been expecting that. Had she been a demon, too?

Then, Revan was surrounded by blackness. She was a floating conscious, without form or shape. Her soul was suspended in the void, accompanied by the darker, glowing soul of Urthemiel, firmly attached to her own, joined with it. But then, a light appeared in the darkness, and Revan realized it was another soul. It made contact with her mind: Duncan.

 _We do not have long,_ the soul of her mentor told her. _I found you because I must warn you_.

 _About what?_ Revan asked, pushing her trauma aside. Duncan would not have found her if it was not important.

 _You cannot trust the order any longer,_ Duncan said urgently. _There are only a few Grey Wardens who will help you: the Senior Warden from Jader, the Warden-Commander of Rivain, and the Warden-Commander of Antiva, as well as some of their subordinates. However, it is imperative that you do not trust the First Warden. He has been planning something for years, something horrible. I think he's planning on—_

But Duncan never got the chance to finish. Revan was yanked from the blackness of the void, and found herself on an island. Alistair, Wynne, and Sten stood next to her, and Rose stood in front. In front of them was a tall demon, with grey skin and decorated with the strange garb of the Fade, its eyes hidden by a crown-like hat: the Sloth demon. Revan drew her swords immediately and was about to charge in fury when Sten put his arm in front of her, a clear indication to not be reckless. Looking at him pleadingly, Revan tried her hardest not to cry from shock and grief. She would be better when her hilt protruded from the demon's chest.

"Oh, here I am!" Alistair said cheerfully. "And there you are! You just…disappeared. Well, no matter!"

"It is time to finish this," Sten agreed. "I have had enough of cages."

The Sloth demon tilted its head to the side, as if regarding them. "If you go back quietly," the demon said with its charmed voice as it tried to lure them back to complacency, "I'll do better this time. I'll make you much happier."

Rose glared at it and said, "I'll make my own happiness, thank you."

"And what about them?" the Sloth demon gestured to her friends. "Or the others in my realm? Can't you think about someone other than yourself? I'm hurt, so very, very hurt."

"Sorry," Rose said sarcastically, "but I really just want to kill you right now, demon."

"You wish to battle me?" the Sloth demon asked in surprise. "So be it…you will learn to bow to the whims of your betters, mortal!"

With a burst of magic, the Sloth demon transformed into a large ogre, with its bluish skin and large horns. It roared, and charged Rose. However, to Revan's surprise, Rose transformed into a large, stone man that she recognized from the Deep Roads as a golem. Rose braced herself, and caught the ogre's horns with her stone fists, throwing it to the left. Revan jumped on the opportunity and slashed and the demon as much as she could while it was recovering, her blades whipping in a frenzy so fast even Revan couldn't follow them with her sight. The demon roared in anguish as she sliced open its calf, its stomach, its rib cage. Wynne fired bolts of magic at the beast, while Alistair and Sten also attacked the demon from the other side. Apparently, they realized it was a bad idea to be near Revan when she was in this state. Rose lumbered up as a golem, and slammed on the ogre's head, crushing it completely. Nothing could have survived that.

Unfortunately, this was the Fade, and the rules were different here. The demon released another burst of magic, blinding them all for a second, and turned into a powerful, fiery rage demon. It roared at them again in fury before summoning an inferno to consume them. Rose transformed back into a human, but then into a flaming corpse. The young Warden then began slashing at the demon, heedless of the flames surrounding her. Revan joined her, erecting a Force barrier much like the one she had made when facing the dragon that had earned her her name. Wynne began concentrating on shielding Sten and Alistair, and when she was strong enough, she would shot bolts of cold and frost to deter the demon. Finally, Revan got lucky and was able to drive her dragonbone sword through its head. Screaming, the demon transformed yet again, this time into an abomination, the same one it had appeared as in the Circle. Rose changed back into her normal form and, alongside the furious Revan, began assaulting the demon. It tried unsuccessfully to avoid them, but Revan was now angry. She could feel the dark side rising in her mind, and, in a brief glance at Rose's shield, realized that her eye was glowing yellow, the same primal eye that had characterized her descent to the Dark Side all those years ago. But, Revan found she did not care, not after this demon had used her as its plaything and tortured her mind and heart.

Quickly, the abomination was defeated, and it changed into a shade. Revan could tell it was weakening, and thus getting more desperate. It focused on her as it finally realized that her anger made her the most dangerous target, followed by a vicious, shape-shifting Rose. The shade was quicker than Revan, and thus was able to land several hits on her. However, the anger made her able to ignore the pain, and she continued stabbing and slashing furiously. Rose positioned herself behind the demon so it had to divide its attention between the both of them. Sten and Alistair attacked from its side, and a strong hit from Sten's two-handed strike sent the demon sprawling. It rose slightly and shifted into its first form, that of a demon, an arcane horror. It let out a screech of rage, and Revan could tell that this was its last form. It could not stand against them for much longer, not with their combined efforts. Rose shifted into the same form, and erected a barrier around herself to deflect its magical attacks. Revan did the same. At a distance, Rose fired spell after arcane spell at the demon, while Revan continued assaulting it. Soon, both Rose's granted powers and Wynne's talents overwhelmed the demon and pinned him to the edge of the little arena, feebly trying to attack as it was forced to focus its energies on deflecting the combined spell power. Revan strode up to it, warding off its attacks, her own adrenaline fading fast now that it was almost over. She glared at the demon with hate before plunging her blade into is hatted head as revenge for giving her something she could never have. Then, the demon was absorbed back into the Fade as raw magic; it was over.

A moment later, as the party caught their breath, Revan heard the tell-tale magical _whoosh_ as someone else was transported to the island, but Revan did not have the energy, or the desire, to turn to see who it was. Instead, she stared at the spot where the demon had been. Her adrenaline was gone, but her anger remained, fueling her body and, unfortunately, her mind. Revan realized she would have stayed, blissfully happy, in the fake reality the Sloth demon had created for her. In fact, she almost regretted killing the demon now. She had felt so…at peace. A peace she would never know. She tried her best to hold back her tears.

"Dragonheart," Wynne said softly by her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Revan spun around violently, causing the woman to take a step back in surprise.

"No."

Then, Rose finished talking, apparently with a mage who had also been trapped by the Sloth demon. Revan felt her essence being transported by the Fade, and her surroundings went black again. Then, she found herself back in her body, the floor cold against her face. It took her a moment to reorient herself to the physical world and her body. Through her second sight, she could tell a person was rapidly approaching her, and, upon reaching her, he flipped her onto her back. He then gently slapped her face to get feeling back and wake her up.

"Come on, Revan," he said. Daylen.

Revan opened her eye a fraction, and from Daylen's curious gaze, she could tell it was still yellow with rage. She wasn't surprised; she was still recovering. He helped her sit up, then handed her a chunk of some brown substance that felt slightly gooey in her fingers.

"Eat this," he said. "It will make you feel better, anchor you more in the physical world."

Daylen rushed over to her other companions and helped them sit up, before giving them a chunk of the substance to eat. Revan, realizing that she should probably follow the mage's advice, took a bit out of the brown chunk. It was hard, but melted in her mouth, but it was also sweet and very delicious. She saw Sten out of the corner of her eye, enjoying the substance immensely. After everyone was awake, with the exception of the mage Revan had seen in the Fade, Daylen returned to her to check how she was doing.

"Feeling better?" he asked in concern.

She looked up at him, refusing to raise her head. "No."

His face scrunched into a sad frown of distress. "What is it?"

The tears began to gather in her eye again. "I…the demon…it…"

Sten rose and shuffled over to her. "It was a dream. And now, the demon is dead. So why do you grieve?"

"It gave me the life I wish I could have!" Revan cried in anguish. "And now, it's gone! It gave me hope, Sten—and that's the most horrible torture anyone can conceive!"

Sten's purple eyes softened, and he sunk down beside her. Daylen squatted across from her and handed Sten another chunk of the brown substance, then offered some to the sulking Revan. Then, Daylen introduced himself to the Qunari, who accepted the mage with little complaint. Upon Sten's question about the substance, Daylen responded that it was an Orlesian concoction called "chocolate", and that it helped immensely with the transition between the Fade and the physical world, especially if the transition was a forced one. Out of the corner of her eye, Revan saw Rose huddling near Alistair, and Wynne examining the corpse of the poor mage who did not make it out. She saw her pull out a scroll: the Litany of Adralla. So the poor mage had been Niall. Revan turned away and tried to recover from the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. All of them seemed to have a difficult time getting over their own visions.

Finally, the party was physically, and mentally, ready enough to continue their quest. Rose led the way, having been the least affected by the Fade. The next few floors of the tower got steadily more and more horrendous. Unnatural flesh coated pillars and walls, sculpted into grotesque shrines and statues. The smell of rotting flesh and blood filled the rooms and seeped into their noses, worse than even Redcliffe. She saw Alistair trying his hardest not to retch.

Then, they came to a room with one staircase leading up. Next to the staircase was a purple, shimmering, magical barrier. Despite her emotions, Revan was impressed by the barrier—it reminded her of a force field, except this one seemed more stable. Inside was a Templar, kneeling in fervent prayer, surrounded by corpses of his fellow knights. At the sound of their approach, the Templar looked up and cringed.

"This trick again?" the Templar reeled. "I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong…"

Rose looked at him with pity. "We're here to help you. Who are you?"

"This boy is exhausted," Wynne observed. "And this cage…I've never seen anything like it." She turned back to the Templar, "Rest easy; help is here."

The Templar glared at them angrily. "No more visions. If anything in you is human…kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake…for theirs… Filthy blood mages…getting into my head…I will not break…I'd rather die."

"Calm down," Rose said soothingly. "We aren't blood mages. You're safe now."

"Silence!" the Templar demanded. "I'll not listen to anything you say! Now, begone!"

The Templar closed his eyes and clutched his head. Rose looked back at Wynne and Alistair before shifting uncomfortably. Upon hearing the sound of her armor, the Templar squinted at them in surprise. "Still here? But…that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them."

"I'm real, and I'm really here to help you," Rose managed to say with patience.

The Templar straightened, an expression of relief on his face. "Don't blame me for being cautious. The voices…the images…so real… Did Greagoir send you? How…how did you get here?"

"I'm a Grey Warden, and these are my companions. We're trying to save the Tower," Rose explained.

"Good…" the Templar nodded as he thought. "Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they've done. They caged us like animals…looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left…"

"Be proud," Sten spoke up. "You mastered yourself."

"Be proud? What is there to be proud of? That I lived and they died?" the Templar wailed. "They turned some into…monsters. And there was nothing I could do."

Rose looked uncomfortably at the Templar before asking, "Where are the other mages?"

"What others? What are you talking about?" the Templar asked in confusion.

Wynne took a step toward the cage in earnest. "Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred. Where are they?"

"They're in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out of there…oh, Maker…" the Templar cried.

Wynne turned to Rose and said, aside, "We must hurry. They are in grave danger, I am sure of it."

"You can't save them," the Templar said pitifully. "You don't know what they've become."

"And what would that be?" Revan asked coldly, her anger building slightly.

"They've been surrounded by…by blood mages, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts…" the Templar shuddered.

Alistair looked at him in pity. "His hatred of mages is so intense…the memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind."

"You have to end it now, before it's too late," the Templar pleaded.

"And what do you propose we do?" Rose crossed her arms.

The Templar cleared his throat. "To ensure this horror is ended…to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there."

"No!" Revan screamed, startling everyone in the party. Her anger, not having dissipated from her capture in the Fade, built to a crescendo. "If there is a single person alive up there, we will save them. I do not care if they are maleficar or no! I have had enough death for one day!"

"But then you risk infecting the Tower once again," the Templar argued.

Revan lunged at the cage, sending the Templar scrambling away, and hissed, " _I can tell a blood mage from a clean one_. _I can sense a demon from a mile away_. _I am not risking anything, you stupid, mewling quim_. _And I am certainly not killing everyone up there on the possibility that they_ 'might' _be dangerous_!"

"The Templar does—" Sten began.

Revan turned on him, the Dark Side once again surfacing and cloaking her in a dark cloud that swirled around her violently. "'Have a point'!? Perhaps he does! Perhaps we should kill every single person in this Tower because we risk them escaping! Perhaps all mages are evil spawn intent on ruling the world! Perhaps the Blight will take over Ferelden because we do not have the Circle aiding us! We do not have _time_ for perhapses, Sten! We have to take risks, or we will lose!"

Sten looked at her with a strange expression, almost fear, but he stayed silent. The Templar, meanwhile, had moved to the back of his magical cage in fear. Everyone else was staring at her in shock. Revan took a deep breath and, closing her eye, released it slowly as she calmed her anger. She could not let her grief cause her to lose control. When she opened her eye, she was calm again. She gave a sad apologetic smile to the trapped Templar before ascending the stairs to the Harrowing Chamber. Everyone else followed suit.

Inside the chamber was a grisly scene. A bald mage, presumably Uldred, was splattered with blood, gazing down at a suspended mage bound in magical manacles of electricity. The blood mage was flanked by two abominations, masses of unholy flesh with eyes that glittered with demonic malice. Uldred himself did not seem human, despite his human form. The manacled mage, meanwhile, looked like he was being tortured quite thoroughly. Uldred grasped his face and whispered, "Do you accept the gift I offer?" The mage nodded eagerly, broken. The blood mage and his abominations released him from his bonds, and he fell to the ground, too weak to even stand. The three raised their arms, then released a powerful blast of magic at the prone mage. The flesh on his body began to bubble, then transform into the abscesses and blisters and putrid pockets of flesh that marked an abomination. The demon inside raised its new puppet off the ground with clumsy movements and took its place beside its master. Revan watched in fascinated horror. Then, she noticed three other mages, bound with their hands behind their backs, their eyes darting back and forth as they resisted the maleficarum's mind control. One was an older gentleman. Upon seeing the mages, Daylen tried to lunge forward, but Wynne held him back. Rose stepped forward cautiously as she surveyed the scene before her. That was when Uldred noticed the party's presence.

"Ah, look what we have here. Intruders. I bid you welcome," Uldred spoke in a sick greeting. "Care to join in our…revels?"

"I take it you're Uldred," Rose crossed her arms.

"Oh, very observant," Uldred said sarcastically. "I'm quite impressed that you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants. Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence."

"And so you turn these people into abominations instead?" Rose countered.

"Freeing them in the process!" Uldred declared. "A mage is but the larval form of something much greater. Your Chantry…vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential! Look at them," he gestured to the captive mages. "The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious."

"You're mad!" Wynne cried. "There's nothing glorious about what you've become, Uldred!"

The maleficar laughed. "Uldred? He is gone. I am Uldred and yet…not Uldred. I am more than he was. I could give you this gift, Wynne. You and all mages. It would be so much easier if you just accepted it. But some people can be so…stubborn."

"Of course they are," Alistair said. "You're trying to destroy their lives!"

"Resistance!" Uldred threw up his arms. "Everywhere I go, resistance! How very inconsiderate. I even have the First Enchanter on my side, don't I…Irving?"

The older man was forced on his feet by the abominations. Uldred looked at him expectantly, and Revan could see the battle of wills ensuing between the two.

Daylen struggled against Wynne. "What have you done to him!?"

Through the battle, Irving managed to say, "Stop…him…he…is building an army. He will…destroy the Templars…and…"

Uldred smiled cruelly. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought you were starting to turn."

"N-never."

Uldred waved his hand, and Irving jerked in anguish. "That's enough out of you, Irving. He'll serve me eventually. As you all will…"

"No, we won't. I'd rather die first," Rose declared boldly.

"Killing you would be such a waste," Uldred examined her. "Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable! I can do that—I can give you power, a new life."

"I don't think so," she responded.

"I don't think your opinion matters. That is what I've decided, and that is what will be done!" Uldred licked his lips. "Fight, if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter."

Uldred spread his arms wide and, laughing manically, and he was engulfed in magical light. The light grew bigger and bigger, until it was massive, bigger than an ogre. The demon loomed above them, coated in burgundy scales and horns that glinted like drying blood in the dim light of the Harrowing Chamber. Revan recognized the form from a book: a Pride demon, the most vicious, horrible, and powerful demon there was. It opened its gaping maw and let out an unnatural laugh, then proceeded to attack them. The abominations followed their master's lead, and violently assaulted them. One ran into Revan, trying to knock her over, but Revan dodged to the side with milliseconds to spare. She brought out her swords and spun them around her and into the abomination's back. Its eyes widened in surprise as Revan pulled out the blades, and it fell to the floor with a sickening thump. Then, it exploded. Revan turned her attention to the Pride demon.

It was massive and covered in scales and armored plates, much like a dragon. It used its long arms that were covered in serrated blades to slice all those near it. It also seemed to like to trample people. Unfortunately, it also had magical capabilities. As it rampaged around, causing her friends to leap and dodge to avoid it, it shot powerful bolts of magic at them. She rushed into the fray and looked for any opening to slash, any weakness in its armor, anything. Meanwhile, she extended a barrier over those nearest to her. At one point, Sten was distracted by an abomination that had snuck up behind him, and the Pride demon had taken the opportunity to shoot a lightning bolt at the distracted Qunari. Revan had fortunately seen it, and was able to deflect the bolt. Sten gave her a nod of appreciation, which Revan tried to return but was unable to because of the demon's assault on her. It swiped at her and tried to magically incapacitate her simultaneously. Revan was able to dodge the physical attack, but the magical attack was stopped by Daylen, who redirected the magic toward another abomination. He exchanged a worried glance with Revan before resuming the attack. The party ringed the demon, surrounding it on all sides so that it was constantly distracted and could not focus all its attacks on one place. As they attacked it, it tried to use blood magic to overwhelm the captive mages' minds and kill them, but luckily, Wynne still had the Litany of Adralla and was able to cast the spell to protect them.

The third time she did it, however, the demon noticed her casting the spell from the scroll. It swung its arms around, trying to clear its attackers so it could maneuver to Wynne, but they were able to dodge and keep it busy and away from the mage. The demon hissed in annoyance. Then, it crossed its arms, concentrating, and released a burst of magic that sent them all sprawling. Revan saw Wynne slam against a column before slumping to the floor. She, meanwhile, was just thrown backward a few feet. However, the demon, sensing that now it was free for a moment, turned its concentration back to the captive mages, intent on breaking and killing them, perhaps to break the party's spirits. Whatever was the case, the Pride demon faced the mages and bowed its head in concentration. Revan could feel the magic emanating from its mind, a blast powerful enough to kill them, weak as it was.

"No!" she screamed. Innocents would _not_ die!

Focusing all her mental energy on the demon, Revan tried to stop the magic building in the demon's mind, but it was like trying to stop a hurricane from gaining speed over an ocean. Revan gritted her teeth and tried to figure out, in the precious few seconds she had left, how to stop the demon from killing the mages. However, the time quickly passed, and the demon released the magic. So, the Jedi diverted the magic and absorbed it into herself, rather than it being absorbed by its intended victims. The blood magic tore through her mind like a terentatek. All of her energy was immediately used to try and keep her alive, but Revan quickly realized that she was going to die: there was simply too much energy coursing through her, and it was ripping her apart. She cursed herself for her heedlessness. That was when her survival instincts kicked in. Part of her—the draconian part—absorbed the energy, concentrated it, and released it, forcing it out of her body as if it were a ricocheting bolt, even though Revan had vowed never to use her abilities. The energy hit the demon, not killing it, but staggering it enough that it was forced into a sitting position and stayed sitting for minutes as it recovered.

Revan opened her eye, surprised she was alive. Noticing that there was an opportunity to strike the demon, she tried to rise…and found her limbs unresponsive. All of her energy had been used preserving herself from the blood magic that should have killed her. Her body was, in essence, lacking all energy. She was defenseless and prone, lying on her back on the floor in the middle of a battle. And, unfortunately, she was still conscious. The pain of the energy still surged through every nerve in her body, preventing her from blacking out. It was as bad as all the rituals she had been through, perhaps worse since her mind refused to let her slip away into the comforting blackness of unconsciousness. So, Revan was forced to watch the rest of the battle from the point of view of a corpse.

Rose recovered enough to take advantage of the stunned Pride demon. She charged up and plunged her blade between two of its chest plates and into its vulnerable flesh. Blood squirted forth from the wound as she removed the blade and plunged in through its head. Alistair lumbered up and also jabbed his blade in between its chest plates, but did this repeatedly, surely puncturing some vital organ. The demon was too stunned to react. Finally, after Rose cut its spinal cord, the demon gave a huge shudder and fell back with a crash, the flesh dissolving until only the broken, bleeding corpse of Uldred remained. Rose looked at it distastefully, but courteously closed his glazed, dead eyes.

Then she noticed that Revan was not beside her. Rose scanned the area before seeing the Jedi's limp form on the ground. Revan wanted to yell, to tell Rose that she was alive, but she could not even summon that much strength. Rose rushed over to her side, her eyes frantic with worry. Alistair saw her dashing before noticing Revan, and his face soon turned to a horrified look of grief. He rushed over, behind Rose. They both knelt next to her, and Rose quickly ripped off her gauntlet and put two fingers on Revan's neck to check for a pulse. However, considering that Revan's body was in a state of excruciating pain and exhaustion, Revan's pulse was faint, and Rose, panicking, did not detect the faint heartbeat. She looked up at Alistair, her eyes mad with premature grief, as he looked down at Revan with the same sad puppy expression that he had worn when Duncan had died.

"General…" he whispered before choking off a sob.

Revan forced her mind to get angry, to get angry at anything and everything. She dimly felt her eye changing color from her normal dark iris to the yellow that characterized her anger. Alistair noticed, and began laughing in relief. Rose looked at him like he was crazy, but then she, too, noticed Revan's faint eye movements, and she sighed profoundly in relief. Sten, who was standing behind Rose, also seemed to relax at seeing the Jedi alive. Then, Daylen and Wynne joined the group, supporting First Enchanter Irving and the other two mages that had been bound with him. Everyone seemed relieved that the situation had been resolved.

"The Circle owes you all a great debt that we will never be able to repay," the First Enchanter said in a hoarse, gravelly voice. "Thank you. Now, we should go, the Templars await. We shall let them know that the Tower is once again ours. And, your friend requires urgent medical attention."

"Agreed," Rose told him, the hair falling in her face. "Let's go."

Wordlessly, Sten scooped Revan up and followed Rose and Irving to the stairs.

"I'll need you to guide me down the stairs," Irving said quietly to Rose. "Curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower…"

Thus, they descended the stairs. Each step sent a fresh jolt of agony through Revan, so she forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings to try and dull it. The Templar was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, and though he was suspicious of Irving and the other surviving mages, he seemed more relieved that it was over, and that Uldred had been defeated. He joined their party as they continued their descent through the Tower, every once and awhile glancing fearfully back at Revan, still limp like a puppet in Sten's arms. And, every once and awhile, Revan would move her eye just enough to cause the Templar to jerk his head back in alarm. The amusement helped distract her from the pain.

By the time they reached the great doors, they had amassed quite a full party, with many mages having been released from their prisons as soon as Uldred had been defeated. They approached the great doors, and Irving commanded the Templars on the other side to open the doors. After a moment, the doors creaked open, and on the other side was an expecting Knight-Commander Greagoir. An expression of profound relief spread across his face as he saw that it was truly Irving.

They began talking, but the pain was so great that Revan could no longer concentrate on their words. She just wanted the pain to go away. Sten could somehow sense her pain, and held perfectly still as everyone talked. Soon, with everyone smiling in contentment with how the situation had resolved, Wynne took Sten and the limp Revan into a less-destroyed room nearby and placed Revan on the bed. Wynne, a healer, used her arts to begin healing Revan's body. Then, she allowed Revan to finally slip into oblivion.


	12. Act XII

Act XII: The Circle of Magi

_The darkspawn paced back and forth in his study. Revan, an incorporeal shade, recognized the study from her first trip to Thedas. Books upon books lined the crude shelves, and were piled on the ground, scattered on the desk, along with multitudes of scrolls. Not all were still readable, of course, since most had been salvaged from the Deep Roads. The darkspawn was different from the normal darkspawn that she opposed: he was tall and lank, and his grey flesh was stretched across his frame tautly. His face was almost human as well, despite the strange crests that protruded from it. He did not wear a mask, revealing his lopsided eyes, one being lower on his face than the other, as if he had suffered a debilitating stroke. The aforesaid mask, meanwhile, rested on the desk atop a pile of decaying books that looked like someone was attempting to save them, along with a silver, engraved, round object with a chain that she recognized as a pocket watch. The darkspawn had his long, clawed hands clasped behind his back. Then, he turned toward Revan. Startled, she realized he was not looking at her, but the darkspawn standing next to her. This darkspawn was shorter, a hurlock, but his wild eyes seemed tamer than a normal hurlock, almost intelligent._

" _You are sure of this?" the tall darkspawn spoke. Revan recognized his deep voice, despite this being a dream and her mind being addled. It was the Architect, the only naturally intelligent darkspawn in existence. He was educated, smart, and possessed great magical talent. A wave of guilt spread through her._

" _Yes, Architect," the other darkspawn responded meekly. Though she had not expected the other darkspawn could talk, she was not surprised at his granted intelligence._

" _She is here? In Thedas?" the Architect clarified. The Jedi got the impression, by his tone of worry and fear and regret, that they were talking about her._

" _Yes, Architect. She was seen with the elves in the forest, and then fighting at Ostagar," the other darkspawn replied._

_The Architect stroked his chin. "Fighting on which side?"_

" _With the Grey Wardens, Architect. She smelled like one of them, too."_

_The Architect leaned over his desk, placing his palms on its surface. "She is a Grey Warden?"_

" _So it would seem, Architect."_

" _This is…disturbing," the tall darkspawn sighed. "I do not know what her plans are, but they cannot be good."_

" _Shall I have a team sent to kill her?" the hurlock asked._

_The Architect paused before running his fingers over the pocket watch, then picking up another object off the desk. Revan immediately recognized it as her first lightsaber, the one she had first assembled as an apprentice at the age of ten. She remembered dropping it in the Deep Roads, but she had not known that the Architect had found it. The memory of the incident haunted her as he fingered the device. It seemed to haunt him as well, but he stroked it with an expression of both pain and wistfulness. The Architect seemed deep in thought._

" _No," he finally said. "No, I do not believe she is our enemy. Not yet, at least. But I do not like the fact that she is here, at so opportune a time. I do not like the fact that she is here at all."_

_The Architect ran a finger along the side of the blade, and Revan had to wonder what the darkspawn was thinking. Or feeling. There was a long pause as the Architect weighed whatever plagued his mind. Revan had a flash of fear, not of the team of darkspawn that might be sent after her, but of what the Architect was thinking about doing to her. She got the impression that he would not kill her; he was not capable of killing her. He did not want to kill her. However, that would not stop him from binding her with magic or advancing the taint enough that she, too, became a darkspawn. And he was not above torturing her to discover her purpose on Thedas._

_He looked back at his subordinate. "Send a team to observe her activities. I want information, not assassination. And if she goes anywhere near the location, I want her brought to me. Alive. And unharmed."_

_The hurlock thumped his arm against his chest and bowed in respect before leaving to carry out his orders. The Architect, once alone, sighed profoundly, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Revan felt horrible. This was her fault. The Architect had just been trying to help his people. And now he was faced with this. He looked into the distance in thought, still clutching the lightsaber with his long, gentle fingers. The hard expression of pain and anger faded to one of wistful regret and nostalgic worry. His expression made Revan indescribably sad._

" _Ah, Revan," the Architect finally said aloud, "what are you up to now?"_

* * *

 

There was a knock at the door, causing Revan's eye to flash open. It took her a moment to realize that she was in the Circle Tower, not in the Deep Roads, in the Architect's study. The guilty feelings caused her to look up at the ceiling for a moment and wonder if she should pray to the Dalish gods for forgiveness. But, the moment passed.

"Come in," she managed hoarsely.

The door opened, revealing First Enchanter Irving. He closed the door behind him and dragged a chair over to the bedside with the labored breathing of an old man. Revan watched him, unable to move much more than her fingers, toes, and facial muscles. She could not even lift her head. Irving, meanwhile, was slightly better off than she, but the battle had taken quite a toll on him. His eyes were bleary, and Revan could tell he was still recovering from the horrors he had witnessed and the images of the people he could not have saved. But, he was a strong soul, and he was pressing onward.

"So, they tell me you are Dragonheart," Irving said in his gravelly voice as he sat in the chair and rested his arms on his thighs.

"I am," she stated.

The First Enchanter grunted. "A Dalish human, apostate, and Grey Warden, risking her life for some insignificant mages in the Circle."

"I wouldn't call you or any other being 'insignificant'."

Irving chuckled at the comment. "The Circle may owe you and your companions a huge debt for saving it, but I personally owe you a debt for my life. I fear I will never be able to repay that debt. So, anything you require, I will try to help you as much as I can."

Revan managed a smile. "Well, there is something…"

He raised a brow.

"The mage that saved me, Daylen Amell…"

"Yes?" Irving encouraged her.

"He's a good man, and he saved me and the Tower. He told me about what he had done, but I think, considering, he should be pardoned," Revan explicated.

Irving smiled and laughed. "Already done. When Greagoir saw Daylen wasn't a Tranquil and demanded to know why I hadn't made him so, I explained what had happened, and Daylen spoke of how he helped you free the Tower. Greagoir already pardoned him, and I'm promoting him to Senior Enchanter."

"He's so young!" she exclaimed, elated that Daylen had been forgiven.

"Well, we lost so many in the revolt, and considering that Wynne is leaving us…"

"Wynne is leaving?"

"Why, yes, she is travelling with you and the other Grey Wardens," Irving explained. "She was never one to miss out on an adventure."

Revan thought about this. It would be good to have a true healer with them, considering that she and Morrigan focused more on battle magic. However, something had seemed off with Wynne when they met in the Circle…

"Well, then, I have another request. There is a boy in Redcliffe—"

"The Warden Rose already requested my help concerning the possessed boy," Irving dismissed her wish. "I will dispatch a team of mages as soon as the Tower has been thoroughly searched, which will be soon. You need not concern yourself with that matter."

Revan sighed, then smiled. "It would seem that everyone has already beaten me to the punch, as the saying goes."

The First Enchanter smiled back. "It would seem so."

"However…there is the matter of the mage at Redcliffe."

"Jowan? Daylen explained that you freed him…" Irving said.

"I freed him from the dungeon, but I leave his punishment up to the Arl when he awakes, and I wish you to do the same," Revan said seriously.

He stroked his grey beard as he thought her request over. "Normally," he began, "when we encounter blood mages, we must bring them back to the Templars for them to deal with. They are then either put to death or made Tranquil. And the Arl of Redcliffe will most likely choose one of the two."

"Or he will choose my third option," Revan stated.

"Which is?"

"That Jowan go through the Joining."

Irving reeled. "You want Jowan to be a Grey Warden?"

"Yes," the Jedi affirmed. "I have seen him fight: he is quite capable. He wants to repent. I think he would do fine, if he survives the Joining."

The First Enchanter regarded her with interest. "All right, I will leave his judgment up to Arl Eamon. I am curious as to his decision if he is facing such a formidable opponent such as you."

"Not very formidable right now," she observed. "I cannot even move my head."

Irving laughed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, my paralyzed friend?"

"Right now? Nothing realistic. I'm sure I will come up with something soon enough," Revan assured him.

Irving rose with a weary sigh. "Well, I will leave you to your rest. However, I believe our new Senior Enchanter wishes to speak with you. Should I let him in?"

Revan gave her consent, and Irving shuffled out of the room, and in trod a clean, fresh-shaven, joyous Daylen. His eyes twinkled mischievously and a broad grin was plastered across his face. The strange feeling of similarity come over her again, but Revan still could not place who he reminded her of.

"My dear Revan!" he declared, spreading his arms wide. "I could hug you right now if you weren't in excruciating agony!"

"Thank you, Daylen," Revan said in dry sarcasm. "I just love to be reminded of how helpless I am right now."

The mage laughed lightheartedly. "But you're alive! You saved the Circle! You're a hero!"

Revan grimaced. "A hero, eh?"

Daylen plopped in the First Enchanter's chair. "Of sorts. How are you doing?"

"How does it look like I am doing?" Revan commented.

"Better," Daylen observed. "Much better. Everyone is concerned about how you are doing, including that silent, brooding Qunari. He's taken to guarding the door from pesky mages and Templars."

"Well, that's…unexpected," she remarked. "How long was I unconscious?"

"A day. Wynne thinks you'll be ready to leave tomorrow morning," Daylen informed her.

"And Rose is still here!?"

Daylen was taken aback. "Well of course she is; she's your friend, is she not?"

Revan cursed in Mandalorian, the only language she could think of that adequately expressed her frustration that Rose had not completed their mission yet. "She might be my friend, and I appreciate the sentiment of 'no man left behind,' but there is a possessed child in Redcliffe that is a time bomb waiting to explode. We do not have time to wait for me to recover."

"Well, Rose thinks she does, so they are making time," Daylen claimed. "Relax; stress is bad for healing."

She tried her best to glare at him from the bed, but it failed horribly. Daylen merely ended up laughing.

After his laughs subsided, Revan cleared her throat. "Daylen, I have a favor to ask…"

"Anything, for a friend," he grinned. "Even destroying your imaginary phylactery."

Revan chuckled at the joke. "There is a man at Orzammar, a scavenger by the name of Faryn. He…he took something that belonged to my silent, brooding Qunari friend, a sword. I was going to go to Orzammar and get it back, but in my current condition…"

"Speak no more," Daylen insisted. "I have friends at Orzammar, I will have them find the whereabouts of this Qunari blade."

"Thank you," Revan said.

"Oh, I have something for you!" Daylen exclaimed unexpectedly. "I found these when I was working in the storage rooms, buried under a pile of scrolls. What they were doing under a pile of scrolls about the effects of lyrium poisoning on various animal species I'm not quite sure of, but I wanted you to have one."

Daylen pulled out a matching pair of lockets. Revan could immediately tell they were of elvish origins, considering that the amulets were made of ironbark. Daylen opened one and showed Revan that inside the locket was a dark, glossy mirror. Then he opened the other locket, and, holding the other up to his face, the image of his face appeared in the first. Revan let out a chuckle of surprise: scrying lockets. The elves had been very clever. Daylen smiled proudly.

"So, we can communicate, even if we're at opposite ends of Thedas!" he declared. "I want to know all about your adventures, so you better talk to me every week!"

"Of course," Revan assured him. "I would miss you too much otherwise!"

Daylen smiled brightly at her and questioned her about what she and the others were planning to do next. Revan explained the plan, embellishing it with her own concerns and hopes. They discussed strategies for the quest, talking about how to best utilize the mages and how Loghain could be neutralized. He questioned her about the Dalish, exclaiming loudly when she told him that she was Dragonheart. He seemed quite pleased to know a celebrity. After an hour of chatting, Daylen sighed and insisted that she needed her rest, and left, slipping the scrying locket in her pack next to the bed with a wink. Revan soon slipped back into her restful healing sleep. Luckily, she had no dreams this time.

She awoke next to a hesitant knock on the door. Sten's head popped in and announced, "You have a visitor, a Templar. Shall I let him in, Revan?"

"Yes," she croaked, and in came the nervous, distraught Templar from the cage near the Harrowing Chamber. He looked ready to bolt, like a rabbit facing a fox, but he took a deep breath and approached the bed.

"I…I came…to… _apologize_ ," the Templar managed to say. "I realize I was…in shock."

Revan could tell he was not being completely honest. The Templar still harbored a loathing of mages, as she could tell by the way he stood in her presence, hand resting near the hilt of his sword in case she tried something. His eyes were hard and spiteful, not apologetic or remorseful. This was a man who was still expecting blood mages to be lurking in every corner.

"Do not apologize to me if you do not mean it, Templar…" Revan waited for his name.

"Cullen. Knight-Captain Cullen."

"Well, _Knight-Captain_ Cullen, I do not blame you for disliking mages, after what has transpired. If I were not a mage myself, and I had been tortured and almost broken by mages, I would naturally develop a loathing of them as well. I just wanted you to realize that not all mages are maleficarum in disguise. In fact, I should be the one apologizing to you. I overreacted. Will you forgive me?"

Cullen looked at her in something between shock and confusion. "You…want me, to forgive you?"

"Yes, that would be nice," Revan agreed.

The Templar shook his head. "All right. Um…thank you, Warden."

The Templar put his arm across his chest and bowed, his face composed into a look of absolute confusion as he tried to sort out what had just transpired. Revan smiled, pleased that she had perplexed Cullen long enough for him to forget his absolute hatred of mages. He left, and Revan fell back asleep and dreamt of the Deep Roads once again, but this time only of a legion of unintelligent darkspawn moving through the tunnels, then a flash of Urthemiel, laughing as he distributed orders to his massive armies.

When she awoke next, Sten had pulled the chair against the wall, and was sitting in it serenely. He noticed she was awake when she managed to move her head just the slightest.

"Good, you are awake," the Qunari greeted her in his normal curt manner. "Rose wished to depart as soon as you were conscious."

Revan tried moving her legs, but it seemed that even that was still beyond her. "You should. Go, tell her you are ready to depart. I will catch up with you as soon as I am able."

Sten looked at her curiously. With an intense gaze, he said, "We will not leave you behind, _Jedi_. We rely on you too much."

She returned the stare, a battle of wills. However, Revan was still weak, so she could not resist for long. "I will only slow you down."

"I am to assist you until you can fight again," Sten assured her.

Revan sighed, but she did not argue further. Sten scooped her out of the bed and carried her back to the Tower entrance, where Rose, Alistair, Wynne, Daylen, Cullen, Irving, and Greagoir were waiting. Everyone was smiling with hope except for Cullen, even the broody Templar Knight-Commander. Cullen was anxious, probably waiting for the next maleficarum attack. Everyone said their goodbyes, and Daylen whispered to her that he had gotten word back from his sources at Orzammar, and that the sword had been sold to a particular collector named Dwyn. Revan smiled mischievously and thanked him, commenting on how she wished he was coming with them. He merely shrugged and gave her a sad smile. Then, the party boarded the boat, minus the recovering Templar Sten had half-drowned in the lake upon their arrival.

Fuzzywuggins was patiently waiting for them on the dock, and started barking and bounding around as soon as he caught his master's scent. Soon after, Revan saw Morrigan and Leliana come running to the dock, having been warned by the Mabari. As the boat docked, the two were shocked to see Revan so disabled that she had to be carried by the Qunari. Rose, Alistair, and Wynne disembarked first, then helped Sten carry the Jedi out. While shifting her about, Alistair commented facetiously on her weight, earning him yet another nasty glare from Revan. He just laughed at her expression.

The party then again set out for Redcliffe, going slower this time due to their weary status. Sten did not seem at all incapacitated by the extra weight of carrying her, but Revan still felt like baggage. They should have left her at the Tower. Gods knew lying in a bed would be more comfortable and less painful than being jostled about. But, then again, she knew they did not exactly have the luxury of waiting. And Sten was right: they relied on her too much, mostly for advice. She hoped the addition of the older and wiser Wynne would change that.

So, to distract her mind from the pain of recovery, she instead asked Sten, "Will you teach me your language?"

Sten pursed his lips in thought. It had been about an hour after they left the Tower before Revan had decided to ask. They were still another hour from where the two of them had caught up with the party before, indicating that they were definitely going slower than their previous mad dash.

"You wish to learn Qunlat?" Sten clarified.

"I have always loved languages," Revan answered. "I find they teach so much about the people who speak it. So, yes, I would like to learn Qunlat."

Sten took a breath. "It is not something easily learned."

"Try me. I'm a very fast learner."

Sten looked down at her, scrutinizing her, but he just sighed. Thus, he said a Qunlat word and translated it, then had Revan repeat it back. They practiced for a few hours, with Revan building a formidable vocabulary. By the time they set up camp, about half a day to a day away from Redcliffe at their current pace, Revan was speaking simple sentences, much to Sten's amazement. They set up camp a few minutes away from a small farming village. As the others set up the tents and began cooking, Wynne tended to Revan, administering another healing tonic. Revan knew that arguing against taking it would be pointless, so she drank the concoction and immediately fell asleep to the terrible Blight dreams.

Then, just before she fully woke up, she had a vision. She was viewing it as if she was there, but the edges of her sight were blurry. It was the same feeling as when she had been looking for the Star Maps with Bastila, when the Force had accessed the deepest corners of her mind to show her where to go. In the vision, she saw Rose, Alistair, Sten, and Leliana heading into the village for supplies. Along the way, they were stopped by a frantic woman, claiming that she needed help. Rose immediately sprang into action and followed the woman. However, upon arriving at the scene, the woman gave a nod to a leather-clad elven male, who in turn made a gesture with his fist. All of a sudden, a dozen or so armed men sprang up from their hiding positions and aimed at Rose. It was an ambush. The elf drew his daggers and yelled, "The Grey Wardens must die!" before the vision faded.

Revan bolted up in bed, sending a spasm of incredible pain down her spine. It was morning, and the camp was seemingly empty. They had indeed left for the village. Morrigan and Wynne were nowhere to be seen. Revan cursed in Qunlat (she had picked up those from when Sten swore during battle) and tried moving about. Her legs were stiff, but she could at least sit up. When she tried to rise, however, she fell to the ground. So, knowing that time was of the essence, Revan crawled over to a tree, pulled herself up the trunk, and, drawing her lightsaber, chopped off a lower-hanging branch. When it fell, Revan chopped off enough of it so that it could be used as a crutch. Then, she hobbled in the direction of the village, the glowing lightsaber still humming in her other hand. A raven circled overhead, soon joined by a flock of crows. Only after several minutes of limping dazedly did she realize how helpless she would be in battle. However, Revan pressed on, determined to try and help her friends.

When Revan arrived at the scene of the ambush several minutes later, however, she was greeted by a different scene than she had anticipated. Rose was standing threateningly, her sword extended, above a wounded elf, the same assassin from her vision. Alistair, Sten, and Leliana stood behind, shaken but mostly unharmed. The assassin was clutching his bleeding side, but he was speaking, telling Rose everything she wanted to know. Revan noticed that his accent was markedly not Ferelden, nor Orlesian, and instead sounded exotic. Then, the elf asked her to spare him in return for his service. Rose hesitated, unsure of what to do. Alistair made a comment about how taking an assassin with them was probably not the best of all ideas, and as Rose was turning to speak to him, she noticed the shaking, out-of-breath Revan, leaning heavily on her crutch, lightsaber hanging from her hand. Rose blinked, and immediately Revan could see that her presence had decided for the young Warden. She gave Alistair a silencing glare and returned to the assassin.

"Let me guess: Loghain will send more assassins after me, and since you know their ways, you will be able to protect me?"

"Naturally," the elf assured her.

Rose sighed and glanced over at Revan, as if trying to ascertain if she had Revan's approval. "Then yes, I accept your offer. Welcome, Zevran."

The elf noticed the Warden's gaze, and, following it, he noticed Revan at the edge of the clearing. Then, he took Rose's extended hand and pulled himself up. The blood gushed out of his wound, and he pressed his hand to it to stem the flow. Clearing his throat, the assassin pledged himself to Rose until such a time as she released him, then fainted from blood loss. Revan watched the scene with interest. Meanwhile, Sten sighed and picked up the limp assassin, knowing that, now that Rose had accepted him, they would have to take him back to camp to be treated and healed. Rose strode over to Revan with an angry glare.

"You're supposed to be back at camp, Dragonheart. You're still too weak," Rose chided her.

Revan gave the girl a sad smile. "I know, but I had a…premonition about you being attacked. I had to see if you were alright."

Rose sighed, knowing she could not argue. "Well, please, go back to camp with Sten and Zevran. See what you can do for him."

As she turned away, Revan called, "Why did you spare him?"

"Because you taught me that people should be given second chances," Rose responded over her shoulder, and she, Alistair, and Leliana continued on their way to the village. Sten joined her and glanced at her in concern.

"I do not think you should be up," he remarked in Qunlat.

"Yeah, well, I am," she responded in kind. "Let's go back to camp."

Sten walked slowly, both so Revan could keep up and so the assassin would not lose more blood from being jostled about. When they reached camp, Wynne and Morrigan were still gone, probably off collecting plants for poultices, so Revan had to prepare a cot for the wounded elf. Then, grabbing a few poultices from Wynne's pack, she set to work mending him, with Sten watching. She ended up having to use magic to close the wound, since it had been a deep slash from Rose's blade. Fortunately, it had not hit anything vital. Revan stopped the bleeding, sealed the wound as best she could, and almost collapsed. Sten saw her leaning and caught her before she fell. Leaving the assassin to sleep, Sten carried her back to her own tent and let her rest and recover from her expensive use of magic.

Sten left, but a half an hour later, Revan had the urge to check on the assassin again, just to make sure he was still breathing. She forced her weary, stiff limbs to move, and using her crutch, hobbled out to the cot. She checked the bandages, noticing that Wynne had changed them in the time she was resting, and that the bleeding had stopped. Then, the assassin groaned, and his eyelids flitted open. He tilted his head to where she was sitting.

"Am I dead? Because you must be an angel," the elf flattered her.

She smirked, replacing the bandage. "If I'm an angel, you must be a saint."

The elf laughed, then clutched his side from the pain. "Ooh, don't make me laugh; it hurts."

"Well, you will recover soon enough. I closed the wound enough that it should only take a few days to heal, if you anoint it often enough."

The elf examined her. He was a remarkable male, with long, straight blonde hair and tan skin that glowed a burnished almond. He had a tattoo on the right side of his face, and his eyes sparkled with seductive amusement. If Revan had not fallen in love with Carth, she would have found the assassin incredibly attractive. As it was, she knew that he knew he was sexually attractive and often took advantage of that fact. Assassins usually had short life spans, after all.

"I am Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends. And who might you be, lovely angel?" the assassin flirted.

"They call me Dragonheart, but my friends call me Revan," she responded in kind. She watched as his eyes grew wide with surprise.

"No…not _the_ Dragonheart, the Dalish human?" Zevran asked in awe.

"The very one," Revan assured him.

The elf laughed, then hissed as his wound flared again. "Remarkable what characters you meet when trying to kill someone, eh? Well, I was ordered to kill you, too, but I was not aware that you were Dragonheart, exactly."

"Uh huh. And would you have still taken the job if you knew _I_ would be your target?"

Zevran pondered the question. "Perhaps not. Though, I do not get a lot of choice in choosing my contracts. That is mostly done for me, you see. But, that is in the past now, and obviously I have failed killing you and your…lovely Warden companions. No hard feelings?"

Revan gave him a sly smile. "No hard feelings, _Zev_."

Zevran beamed. Revan touched him arm and then his mind, immediately sending him into a deep sleep with the power of the Force. He did not resist her, which was fortunate, since Revan did not have the strength to fight him. She returned back to her tent.

Rose and the others returned an hour or so later, and though Revan was still very stiff, she was able to hobble along with them, with the help of Sten. He kept his arm supporting her and his eyes on the assassin, looking at him distrustfully. Zevran, meanwhile, had recovered enough to walk, though he still clutched his side in pain. Every once and a while, as they walked, he would glance back at her, as if to ask a question, but Sten's angry glares kept him at bay. It was almost humorous. In between glares, Sten continued to teach Revan Qunran. By evening, when they reached Redcliffe, she was semi-fluent. Sten seemed impressed.

Rose led them into the castle, where Bann Teagan and First Enchanter Irving were waiting. Obviously, the mages that had decided to help had taken the quicker route of travelling across the lake. Jowan also stood nearby, glancing uncomfortably between Irving and the trembling Lady Isolde. Irving told Rose that they were ready when she was, but Rose at least had the decency to ask for Revan and Zevran to be escorted to their rooms, to rest in view of their injuries. Revan cast Irving a sad smile as he looked between her and the new face of the assassin.

Bann Teagan gestured for the knight—Ser Perth, Revan recalled—to show them away. He took Revan from Sten, and helped her limp up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. Then, he left them, eager to see the mages' spectacle. Revan was left alone with Zevran; not that she minded. She had always been at ease with assassins, as her relationship with HK-47 proved. She instructed him to lie down before proceeding to tend to his bandages.

"So…" Zevran began. "You seem to have a…rather unique bond with that Qunari, Revan. May I call you that?"

"'Course," Revan examined the pink flesh. With another day or so, he should be back in fighting shape. She could not say the same for herself, however. "Sten, 'that Qunari,' is my friend. I saved him from the Chantry's cage in Lothering. Much like Rose saved you…from her blade."

"Or Alistair's, at that," the elf grumbled. "He might not have killed me, but I could see he wasn't too happy that I was being allowed to live, either." Revan grunted in agreement. "And besides, I saw the Warden's indecision. She only allowed me to live because she saw you there. Now, why is that, I wonder?"

Revan looked up at the questioning assassin. He was good at prying out secrets. "Zevran, I only just met you, do you really expect me to divulge my most intimate secrets to you so soon?"

"Why not?" Zevran asked lightly. "I'm an assassin: I live for the moment. And here we have a moment, without your suspicious Sten and the rest of them."

Revan reapplied the bandages and sighed. "I have done worse things than you, Zevran. Rose had a choice, earlier in our little adventure, of whether to trust me or not. Now, by all reasoning, she should not have trusted me, but she did. And I have worked very hard not to betray that trust. Now, if she finds someone willing to…repent, or serve, she cannot deny them because she did not deny me."

"You? Something worse than murder? I doubt it," Zevran pried.

"Tell me, Zevran, what do you know of the Blight?"

He turned his head to look at her in confusion. "What does that have to do with it?"

"I started it," she said honestly. He stared at her in shock, and she immediately cursed the gods for trusting him so easily. She should know better than to just go blabbing her secrets to the nearest attractive man.

"No…you must be kidding!" Zevran insisted.

Sighing, Revan took a seat on the edge of the bed, and Zevran sat up and hugged his knees. Then, she recounted her tale from the time she landed on Thedas to the time she left, explaining the same way she had explained it to Daylen. The elf listened, enraptured, to her tale, as she told how she returned to repent and make amends. When she was done, he did not seem horrified, or even aghast. Instead, he seemed astounded, perhaps even amused.

"You're telling me…" he asked in thought, "that you started the Blight for power, and then never even _used_ that power!?"

"That bothers you more than the fact that I started the Blight?" Revan inquired, surprised at his apathy.

Zevran shrugged. "It was a choice of survival. Hell, if I hadn't known any better, I would have made the same deal. And besides, you're a Grey Warden now, and surely having part of the Archdemon's soul is an advantage, right?"

Revan let out a short laugh, then shook her head in wonder. "You are a strange person, Zevran."

"Not as strange as you, apparently, but strange enough."

Revan laughed, and they continued talking. Zevran had her tell of her adventures with the Dalish, fascinated with their ways. Upon questioning, he told her that his mother had been Dalish, but had ran away with an elven woodcutter. However, he had died from illness, and his mother had been forced into prostitution and had died giving birth to him. He spoke of growing up in the Antivan whorehouse, and then being sold to the Antivan Crows, an elite organization of assassins, at an early age. She was surprised how freely he told her everything. He even began telling her of his misadventures of being an assassin. By the time they were done, the moon was almost setting, and the false dawn had just started to show. Revan yawned and bid her new friend good night before lugging her weary limbs into the other room to sleep.

She awoke several hours later, though the light had not seemed to have changed. But, then again, the room was windowless, so there was no way to tell the passage of time. She did, however, feel greatly improved after having slept in a real bed again. After stretching her muscles out, Revan slowly walked down stairs, her legs still shaky under her. Bann Teagan was in the throne room, talking with Ser Perth about the search for bodies in the castle. Apparently, after the demon had been defeated, the bodies had resumed human form. Now, they had to undertake the massive task of finding them all and discerning their identity.

Teagan looked up at her approach. "Ah, Dragonheart! Good to see you awake and about!"

"Good morning, Bann Teagan," Revan smiled at him. "So, I take it everything went according to plan?"

Teagan gave her a sly smile in return. "Yes, they did. In fact, your mage Jowan was the one to save Connor."

"Really?" she asked in surprise. "And where is he now?"

"First Enchanter Irving said to leave judgment to Eamon if…when he awakes," Teagan explained. Revan's eye glittered in approval. "So, we returned him to the dungeon, with better accommodations, of course."

"And I assume that the rest of my friends are still sound asleep?"

Bann Teagan allowed a small chuckle. "That they are, except for your large Qunari 'friend'," he made a small face. Sten tended to unnerve people. "He's in the dining hall, if you were wondering."

"Thank you," Revan bid him adieu, and began walking towards where she thought the dining hall was, according to her memory of their invasion of the castle. As she passed one of the servant's rooms, she spotted a small, shaggy dog —not a Mabari hound—observing her from a corner. It was strange to her, until she realized that the dog had yellow eyes.

"Good morning, Morrigan. I would have thought you would be sleeping," Revan said calmly, stopping.

There was a flash of light, and in place of the dog stood Morrigan, still dressed in her patchwork clothes, her staff strapped to her back. She gave Revan a glare that was partly amused and partly irritated.

"You are the one who should be sleeping, _'General'_ ," Morrigan countered, mocking Alistair's nickname for her. "You took quite a blast, if what Rose says about the Circle Tower is true."

"I'm sure it is," Revan agreed as she resumed walking. Morrigan joined her as they headed to the dining hall. "I don't believe there is any way of understating blood magic."

Morrigan groaned in exasperation. "Oh, don't tell me you're one of those who thinks blood magic is 'evil' and 'abhorrent'!"

Revan chuckled. "I am sure it has its practicalities, but I do not like abominations that possess blood magic. And I certainly do not like mages who use blood magic heedlessly, like Uldred did. He was foolish, and his actions led to the needless deaths of innocents."

Morrigan paused at this, then conceded to her point. They finally found their way to the dining room, and observed Sten sitting at a lone table in the center of the room, with the other soldiers and servants that survived sitting at the other edges of the room. Revan jovially approached the giant and greeted him in Qunlat, to which he responded back. She and Morrigan took their seats across from him, and soon servants brought them breakfast.

Sten picked up a cracker from the plate and carefully examined it. Staring at it, he commented, "I was not aware that humans also ate _vita_."

Both Revan and Morrigan looked at him curiously. " _Vita_?" Morrigan finally asked. "I believe we call them 'crackers' here."

" _Crackers_ …" Sten repeated, observing the object, then popping it in his mouth. "It even tastes the same as the ones in Par Vollen. Interesting."

Revan looked away. She had heard the word "vita" before, but in a different language. She lost focus as she tried to remember where she had heard the term before, when her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Antivan assassin.

"Good morning, my jolly Qunari friend!" Zevran slapped Sten on the shoulder in greeting. "And to you two, lovely dames," he winked.

The servants soon brought him a plate, which he proceeded to stuff his face with hastily whilst gregariously chatting away. Revan had forgotten how uplifting the presence of an assassin could be. Gradually, Morrigan and Sten stopped glaring at him distastefully, and with continued flirting, Zevran managed to win a small smile from Morrigan. It appeared that Zevran was an expert at befriending people, in addition to killing them.

As Zevran finished eating, Revan rose slowly, still not having fully recovered. "All right, everyone, we have work to do."

"What do you mean?" Morrigan asked skeptically.

Revan met all of their eyes before continuing. "I have, with the help of an acquaintance of mine, located a certain possession belonging to Sten, right here in Redcliffe. And, considering my current state, I require all of your…assistance…in retrieving it."

Sten's eyes widened, and in Qunlat, he asked, "You found my sword?"

She gave him a confirming smile, before looking to Morrigan and Zevran. They both shrugged in acceptance, and they all rose and followed Revan out of the castle and into the village proper. They were given strange looks as they passed, but no one commented on the odd party, and no one dared stop them. In fact, some of the villagers recognized them from their defense of the village, and smiled at them as they passed. Revan smiled back absently, but her mind was focused on the route to the dwarf's hut.

This time, instead of having Sten bust down the door, she politely knocked. She heard some grumbling inside, but one of Dwyn's men grudgingly opened the door a crack to ascertain the identity of the visitors. Seeing as it was her, he immediately opened the door. With a quick thanks, she entered the cottage proper, to find it all in order, furniture back in place, weapons and armor neatly stored. Dwyn was sitting at a desk, working, but he stood as he noticed their entrance.

"Ah, Warden! You decided not to break down my door this time!" Dwyn greeted her.

"Yes, well, I felt a bit bad about last time."

"That was some fight. Reminds me why I left Orzammar in the first place."

"Oh? Why is that?" she asked curiously, ignoring Sten's obvious impatience from behind her.

"Constant fighting," Dwyn responded. "A warrior's life there is blood, ash, and dust. Though, I'm not sure who's dirtier: those creatures or the darkspawn."

"Well, thank you for helping with the battle," Revan bowed her head.

"Hey, anything for Redcliffe, right? Whatever. Go…celebrate, or whatever it is you're going to do. You won, right? You're a hero. Or something," Dwyn rambled, turning back to his desk.

"Actually…" Revan took a step towards him, "I am looking for the Qunari sword you bought."

Dwyn stopped, and turned back to face her. "Now, why would you be interested in that?"

"It's _mine_ ," Sten growled, sending a chill down Revan's spine. The color immediately drained out of the veteran dwarf's face at the fury concealed in his voice.

"You know, Faryn didn't mention the giant he took it from was alive," Dwyn shook.

"Now, what do you want for it?" Revan asked, trying to appear unshaken from Sten's ferocity.

"Six sovereigns."

"You couldn't have paid that much. Two sovereigns, take it or leave it."

Dwyn gave a nervous glance at the glaring Qunari. "Good enough. It's in the back room, here's the key," he handed her a small brass key. "Now, if that's all…"

"Of course," Revan took the key and proceeded to the back room. In it, piled with all of Dwyn's other weapons, was a large blade, intricately designed, sharp and gleaming. Qunlat symbols decorated the flat of the blade. Revan lifted it gingerly, surprised at its great weight, and carried it out. The others were already outside, waiting. As soon as she emerged, Sten's eyes fixated on it reverently. She held it out to him, and he gripped the hilt with his large hands, feeling its weight and balance, as if disbelieving it was really his sword.

"Strange…I had almost forgotten it. Completion," Sten ran a hand along the blade. Then, he fixed his eyes on Revan, his eyes softer than she had ever seen them. "Are you sure you are a Grey Warden? I think you must be an _ashkaari_ to find a single lost blade in a country at war."

Revan smiled at him. "Well…I'm not _just_ a Grey Warden, am I?"

"No, you are not. I would thank you for this, if I knew how," Sten continued. "And I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended, do you not agree?"

"So you will be staying, then?" she asked.

"I am one of the Beresaad. I have never abandoned the field with the battle unmet," Sten gave her a sort of smile.

"I am glad to have you by my side, Sten," she returned.

"Yes, it isn't every Grey Warden who has her own Beresaad. I will see you reach the Archdemon. Now, let us return to the castle, yes, _Kadan_?"

* * *

 

It was late afternoon. The sun was just beginning to set over the castle, and Revan was sitting under a tree in the courtyard, with Fuzzywuggins curled up near her. She had spent the rest of the morning chatting with her friends about what was to come next. The plan, now that the demon was gone, was to revive Arl Eamon. However, the only way to do that was to seek out a legend: the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the remains of the prophet Andraste. So, they were off to Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, to find a Brother Genitivi, who had been researching the supposed location of the Ashes. On the way, they would also try to locate a Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest. Revan had been designated this task, since she was Dalish, technically. Surprisingly, she had been eager to accept the task; she missed her clan and her friends, despite the pain of having lost Tamlen and Lyna.

She had also managed to chat with Jowan, who had been thoroughly surprised to hear of Daylen's fate. She could tell he felt guilty about involving his friend in his escape from the Circle. He was also shocked to learn of her plans for him, but when she described the alternatives, he stopped protesting. A chance at life was better than being made Tranquil, at any cost.

Now, having concluded her business, she had retrieved the book she had found in the Circle Tower, the one belonging to Flemeth. She began reading, thumbing the pages as her enhanced mind absorbed the information easily. And, what she read disturbed her. The book was a description of the rituals involved in prolonging her life: entering a new host, usually that of one of her daughters. From what she read, Revan was able to conclude that Flemeth was no longer entirely human. And neither was she partly Archdemon, as she had led Revan to believe. She was something else, far more powerful than she had anticipated. Revan needed to deliver the book to Morrigan; she had a right to know her mother's plans for her.

But that made Revan wonder: what were Flemeth's plans for _her_?


	13. Act XIII

Act XIII: The Brecilian Forest

She held up her hand, halting the party before they could disturb the earth, and examined the spot of dirt before her. Then she eyed the bush, ran her fingers across the leaves, and smelled them. The strong taint of leather clung to them, along with a drop of dried blood, and the earth bore the tell-tale imprint of a boot. They had found a Dalish game trail, one a clan's hunters had used recently. Revan unconsciously smiled at their good fortune; they had only been searching for two days, and already they had discovered a clan.

"Well?" Rose whispered next to her. "Are we close?"

"Very," Revan responded in a normal voice, then stood and brushed off her knees, "because this was too obvious a clue, and they are watching us right now."

Right on cue, a barrage of hunters stepped from the foliage and shadows, their arrows knocked and aimed at their chests. Rose, Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne immediately put their hands up to show they meant no harm, reluctantly followed by Sten, Zevran, and Morrigan. Only Revan kept her hands down, calmly observing the elves as they stared back.

Finally, one elf, a female with the eyes of a mother bear, strode forward a few steps, though she kept her bow drawn at all times. She eyed Revan, obviously the one in charge at the moment, before speaking.

"Turn back now, outsiders. The Dalish have camped in this place. I suggest you go elsewhere, and quickly," her eyes narrowed as she spoke the words in a low growl.

" _Hamin_ ," Revan intoned the Dalish word for 'relax'. Then, continuing in the elvish language, she said, "We come as friends, and only wish to speak with your Keeper."

While the rest of her face remained impassive and hard, her eyes grew larger at hearing her speak their language. Testing her, the elf continued in the same, "Who are you, how is it you know our language, and how did you find us?"

"I am a friend to the Dalish," Revan insisted, "to the Sabrae clan. We are Grey Wardens, and these are our allies, and we seek the assistance of the clans."

" _Mi'harel_ …" the hunter lowered her bow, and her fellows lowered their bows also. "We have heard tales of you from passing hunters, but we did not think…my apologies. I will take you to our Keeper immediately." Then, she switched to Ferelden. "Follow me."

Rose exchanged nervous glances with the rest of the party, but followed Revan's cool lead and followed the elves. They led the party through the forest and into a clearing, revealing a large, prosperous clan of Dalish, but it was not the Sabrae clan, her clan. The elves that were about turned their heads to observe the newcomers warily before turning back to their respective tasks. The hunter led them to a larger _aravel_ , painted and decorated similarly to Marethari's. Outside, an old, male mage was instructing his First how to mix complex poultices, but he was mostly focused on his own work. He turned as he noticed their approach and left off, a scowl emphasized by his tattoos marking his face.

Casting an annoyed glance at them all, he said, "Hmm…I see we have guests. Who are these strangers, Mithra? I have precious little patience and less time to spend on outsiders today."

"These are Grey Wardens and their allies, and they wish to speak with the clan. I thought it best that I brought them to you," she said, unsure if she should state Revan's identity. Revan wondered why she was so hesitant to introduce her.

"That was wise of you," the Keeper softened considerably. " _Ma serannas_ , Mithra; you may return to your post."

The hunter crossed her arms and bowed, saying, " _Ma nuvenin_ , Keeper."

As she left, the Keeper directed his attention to them. "Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zathrian, the keeper of this clan, its guide and preserver of our ancient lore. And you are?"

Revan subtly gestured to Rose, and she bowed similar to Mithra. "I am Rose Cousland, and these are my friends and allies. It is a pleasure to meet you, Keeper Zathrian."

"Manners? From a _shemlin_? Interesting…" Zathrian ran his eyes across their odd little band, and the scowl lessened. "What might be your mission here? Have you come to spread news of the Blight? I have already sensed the corruption spreading in the south. The existence of the Blight is not news to me. I would have taken the clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see, we do not," he gestured to their stationary _aravel_.

"Yes, it seems like you have had your own troubles. What are the odds?" Alistair commented sarcastically.

"I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago," Zathrian continued. "Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made. This will require some…explanation. Follow me."

The Keeper strode past his First, who watched them go with large, intelligent eyes, and toward an area set up nearby, furnished with over a dozen cots, all filled with injured. However, Revan could tell through her second sight that it was more than just injuries; there was something spreading through their bodies, like the darkspawn corruption, but more similar to the energies of the Fade. The majority of those there were hunters, the main fighting force of the Dalish. Their eyes were white, as if their humanity was vanishing, and their skin had a ghastly greyish tinge. Every elf had some sort of gash or laceration on their body, some worse than others.

Zathrian stopped by one of the cots and began explaining. "My clan came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us. They…ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak."

"Is there no way to help them?" Rose asked innocently. But Revan already knew the answer from her training with Marethari.

The Keeper paused to consider. "The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous. The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that…that would be no trivial task to retrieve."

Rose smiled. "We're good at non-trivial tasks."

Zathrian scanned her with a grin, the _vallaslin_ , his tattoos, making his appearance more sinister. Revan got the bad feeling that he was somehow using them. "Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf—we call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us. I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan."

"Of course we will do this," Revan said hastily, her sense of loyalty to the Dalish overriding her sense of judgment. "Anything for the clan."

"I must warn you," Zathrian cautioned them, "that more than werewolves lurk in the Brecilian Forest. It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see. Where there is so much death, the Veil separating the spirit realm from our own world becomes thin, allowing spirits to possess things living or dead. But if you can indeed help…then I wish you luck."

Zathrian left them and returned to his _aravel_ to continue making poultices to ease the hunters' suffering and slow the spread of the corruption. The white eyes of the hunters reminded Revan too much of Lyna when she had succumbed to the taint. Rose looked at the group, and they gathered closer together so that they could talk and not be overheard.

"So, kill the king of werewolves. Sounds…wonderful," Morrigan said sarcastically.

"Do we even need these weak elves?" Sten wondered, his tone not in the least patronizing. He merely was stating what he considered fact. "I cannot imagine that they would be of help on the battlefield if their first instinct is to flee from danger."

Revan scowled at him. "The darkspawn are not just any 'danger', Sten. The Keeper knows that only the Grey Wardens are capable of stopping the Blight. Protecting the clan is a much higher priority, and if their immediate safety can be resolved by fleeing, that is what they will do."

He frowned, but the Qunari did not protest more. Meanwhile, Alistair had begun, saying, "Ah, another hopeless task. Well, at least it seems straightforward enough. Go into the forest, kill this Witherfang, grab its heart, and come back. Shouldn't be too difficult…right?"

"What bothers me," Zevran interjected, "is that werewolves are supposed to be little more than beasts, yes? So how did they manage to ambush a clan?"

"Does it matter?" Revan responded vehemently. "They are a threat to the clan, and as such, they need to be dealt with. It is my responsibility as a Dalish to do this. So, regardless of what we decide, I am staying."

"Of course we are staying!" Rose gripped her arm. "But I agree with Zevran; that _is_ an interesting point. What do you know about the werewolves, Dragonheart?"

Revan frowned in thought, then recounted what she had learned from Paivel all those months ago. There wasn't much; they were beasts, some created by Witherfang, others by a rupture in the Fade. The taint spread through their bite, and they were violent, unthinking beasts who attacked anything that even remotely provoked them. Those that were bitten either died or became a beast themselves. The party grimaced at the images. She also mentioned some of the other dangers lurking in the forest. She had learned much about the Brecilian Forest from Marethari, Merrill, and Paivel. The Fade was the thinnest here from all the carnage, as Zathrian had mentioned. As such, the werewolves, creatures created by the corruption of the Fade, were stronger here. So were mages. And demons. The further one went into the forest, the more potent the power was. That had been part of the reason Revan had spent so much time in its depths when she had been recovering. Unfortunately, this also came with the added risk of possessed beasts that could easily kill the unwary. She described some of the possible abominations they could encounter, causing Wynne to shift uncomfortably.

"Well…" Rose cleared her throat after the Jedi had finished. "I think we should find out as much about the area of the Brecilian Forest we are in right now. As well as how the werewolves could have ambushed the Dalish."

"So, split up, then," Leliana added. "I will speak with the storyteller, perhaps we can exchange stories."

"I will go with you," Wynne volunteered.

"And I suppose I will speak with some of the hunters to see what they know about the 'ambush'," Morrigan sighed.

With a gesture of her head, Revan nodded to Sten to go with her. Also sighing, he consented to accompany the witch. Revan volunteered herself and Zevran to talk with the First and some of the other hunters, and Rose and Alistair, exchanging a small smile with each other, agreed to go speak with the clan craftsman. The rest of the party noticed the secret smile between them and glanced at each other in recognition of the sign. Then, with a nod between Rose and Revan, the party split into their respective pairs and went to gather information.

Revan walked amiably with the elf to where the clan's First was now administering poultices to some of the victims. She looked up at their arrival with large, glistening eyes that reminded the Jedi of a doe. The First rose to her feet and crossed her arm across her chest in formal greeting and uttered the formal elven greeting. Revan responded in kind as she formally bowed deeper.

"I am Lanaya, our clan's First, though I suppose you already knew that. Our hunter, Mithra, tells me you are the one they call _Mi'harel_ ," she examined the Jedi with her large eyes.

"She would be correct," Revan said in the elven language, to make her point. Then, switching to Ferelden, she added, "I did not know if this knowledge would upset your clan, so I did not make it known. I apologize if this offends you."

Lanaya tilted her head, surprised at Revan's explanation. "You know much about us. And yes, you were right not to tell our Keeper. He has…difficulty trusting _shemlins_ , and the news that a clan had adopted one as their own incited much anger from him. I am more…lenient towards _shemlins_ , perhaps because I was not born in the clan."

Now it was Revan's turn to be surprised. To earn the position of First was difficult enough, especially in a clan this size. And, most Firsts, like Merrill, were direct descendants of the higher classes in Arlathan, the elven homeland. Earning the position of First without such an advantage was almost impossible.

"That is remarkable. You must be proud of your accomplishments, First Lanaya, for they are great indeed," Revan gave her another bow in respect. She, in turn, gave Revan a small smile in gratitude.

"I am. The ceremony where Zathrian anointed me as his First was the proudest day of my life," Lanaya said almost wistfully. "The clan has placed great trust in me, as you know."

"I assume Zathrian found you?" the Jedi asked.

Lanaya looked away slightly. "Yes, when I was very young. My parents were servants to a human merchant whose caravans plied the southern routes. One day, bandits killed him and my parents…" She went on to tell the rest of her sad story, of how she was the only survivor, forced to "serve" the bandits for several years. When the bandits killed a Dalish scout, Zathrian sought revenge, and tracked the bandits for a month before finding them. Lanaya described that he "fell on the bandits like a terror." When she spoke of it, her face held a sort of violent reverence for the Keeper. Despite her profound pity and empathy for the girl, Revan found the expression slightly disturbing. The tale was one Revan had heard before many times, especially when she had been a Jedi, and when she had been in the Sabrae clan. However, despite this, she managed to notice how highly the clan regarded Zathrian. In her own clan, Keeper Marethari was loved and respected, but here, Zathrian was almost worshiped.

Revan asked the First to tell her about Zathrian, but Lanaya seemed reluctant to speak of him, saying instead that all she could tell her was what Zathrian himself could answer. Unsatisfied, Revan pleaded, and finally Lanaya began talking.

Apparently, Zathrian had once had children, a son and a daughter. His son had been murdered by a tribe of humans, and his daughter had been raped. When she discovered that she was pregnant, she committed suicide. This was the reason Zathrian despised humans as much as he did, and why he had been so infuriated to hear that one had been made Dalish. That had been many centuries ago, however. Lanaya issued bravely that Zathrian may have discovered how the ancient elves had achieved immortality. A spark of hope lit in Revan; to discover an ancient secret of the elves of Arlathan, especially something like immortality, was worthy of idyllic reverence. The dim notion that a secret like that was almost impossible to find was drowned out by the hope that it was true. Then a thought entered her head: the only ones she knew that could attain immortal life were those incredibly gifted with the Force, those that fed off of the life of others. What was Zathrian using to keep himself alive?

After Lanaya had finished speaking of Zathrian, and answering both the questions from Revan and Zevran about the werewolves, she turned back to Revan with an inquisitive look in her expressive eyes.

"Tell me, _Mi'harel_ , I am sure that there were Dalish in your clan that suffered as much as I did at the hands of _shemlin_. How did they come to accept you?"

At this, Zevran adopted a fascinated expression as well. Revan looked between the two briefly, then began recounting her tale of how she had slayed a dragon, and they had found her unconscious near the corpse of the beast. They had brought her back to the camp, healed her, and she had, while recovering, learned their ways. She helped with the chores, assisted the Keeper and her First, and did minor things to help the clan. Eventually, when she had enough strength, she became a hunter, and killed a nest of dragonlings and drakes that were threatening the clan. Then, slightly abashed, Revan told how she turned back a mob of humans that had come to kill the clan.

"Ah…" Lanaya processed the story, a little surprised. After a pause, she added, "You are an…unusual _shem_ , I must admit. And now, a Grey Warden…perhaps you will be the beginning of a new era of peace between the _shemlin_ and the elves."

Revan smiled at her. "Though I would be honored, it will not be I who will responsible for peace. It will be the Keepers and people like Rose and Alistair."

"The other Grey Wardens?" Revan nodded. "Why do you say that?"

"They will be the leaders of the world, especially if we survive this Blight," she explained. "They will be hailed as heroes. Their word will be echoed around the world."

Lanaya pondered this, then bid the two a warm goodbye before returning to work. Revan and Zevran left to speak with some of the others in the camp.

"You know," Zevran said as they walked between the many _aravels_ , "my mother was Dalish, which was always a point of fascination for me. The only thing of hers that I possessed was a pair of gloves. They were of Dalish make, I knew that much, and beautiful. I had to keep them hidden, of course, as we were not allowed such things. Eventually they were discovered, and I never saw them again."

"You're life sounds like one horrible tragedy after another," Revan muttered.

"Oh, it isn't so bad. There has been plenty of joy. To tell the truth, it is because I expected nothing more. Still, even I eventually thought that it would be better for me if I ran off to join the famous Dalish when one of their clans drew near Antiva City. Naturally, the reality did not live up to all the fantasies I had constructed as a boy, staring at those gloves. But such is life."

"Why not? Why did you not join them?"

Zevran shrugged. "They were not as…welcoming as I would have expected them to be. The hunters took one look at my dirty face and hissed that I was a…what was it? Oh, a _len'alas lath'din_ , which I assume is not something pleasant."

"'Dirty child no one loves'," Revan translated with a grimace.

"Ah, yes, thank you for that, I had always wondered what insult they had thrown at me," Zevran responded sarcastically. "Well, I discovered their dislike for city elves, and how their life was even more difficult than life as a Crow—I mean, they had to actually hunt for their food! And no alcohol! What kind of life is that, with no alcohol? At least with the Crows, they provided the food and liquor…and other pleasures. A gilded cage, but at least my position in the Crows was quite clear."

"You encountered one of the older clans, I suppose," Revan said sadly. "They are not as accepting as other clans, like mine. That is…unfortunate."

"Not really," Zevran responded cheerfully. "I mean, if I had joined them, I would never have gotten the contract to kill you and the lovely Rose, and I would never have seen your gorgeous face."

Revan raised an eyebrow, causing Zevran to laugh at her expression. "'Gorgeous,' is it? Your flattery is appreciated, but I think you may have forgotten the scars. And besides, I have a man of my own."

The assassin stopped in his tracks and looked at her in shock. "Wait, what?"

Sighing, Revan elaborated, "I had a man, a lover, in my old land. We lived together for a while, but then I left and crashed on…in Thedas."

"So, you are married?"

She opened her mouth to respond "yes", but then she realized that she and Carth had never actually issued vows. "We were…no, I did not marry him, though we loved each other…he was a man who had been hurt before, and we both knew that I would only hurt him more. I think he was still wary that I would betray him or leave him or become evil or die. Which, I suppose I did betray him, in the end."

Zevran's aghast expression softened to one of compassion. Then, he asked, "Do you still love him?"

"Yes," Revan said automatically. She loved Carth more than the stars, the clan, more than life itself. She would have gladly died for him. And, in a way, by leaving him back on Telos, she was dying for him and his safety.

"What was his name?"

"Carth. Carth Onasi."

"What was he like?"

"Kind, gentle, stubborn as hell," Revan smiled. "He was strong, with a cool head and a strong moral compass. And he had a great sense of humor. In a way, he was a bit like Alistair, except he was not naïve, and he was bitter from losing his first wife and son in the war. It was hard for him to forgive, but his love overcame his anger."

Zevran stared at her with an inscrutable expression, then he flashed her a sad smile. "He sounds wonderful."

"Time softens memories," Revan spouted. "Come on, let's finish our interrogation. I want to make sure Morrigan and Sten haven't ripped each other's throats out."

The elf laughed in amusement, and rejoined her side. However, Revan noticed a mournful tinge lurking just behind his cheerful veneer.

* * *

 

After rejoining the party, they had discovered that, indeed, the werewolves had ambushed the clan with unnatural intelligence. They had also found that this area of the forest was full of sylvans, trees that were possessed by spirits of the Fade. Some could be benevolent, and some, aggressive. Apparently, there was a magical barrier at one point in the forest where the hunters assumed the werewolves' hideout was, but they could not get past it. The forest also shifted in this area, but the hunters insisted it only did if it felt it was threatened.

Wynne looked especially happy when they had regrouped, though she offered no explanation. Morrigan and Sten, meanwhile, had in a way formed a bond between them from their shared view on the importance of strength. Despite this, however, Sten immediately took his place beside Revan when he saw her again. Rose and Alistair kept glancing goofily at each other when they thought the others were not paying attention. The attraction between the two was becoming obvious.

The party decided that, in order to solve the issue of the barrier, they would split into two groups and split up. As soon as one group found something to dispel the barrier, they would send out a magical signal to alert the other group, and together, they would go to the barrier. Thus, Rose, Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana departed, leaving Revan as leader over Zevran, Sten, and Morrigan. The three of them looked up to her, especially since she knew the forest. So, they departed into the Brecilian Forest in search of something to dispel the magic barrier.

The forest was just like Revan remembered it, even here. The magical currents swirled around her not so much like a hurricane, but like a gentle breeze. The trees towered over them, the sunlight filtered in thinly, casting everything in a yellowish tint, and the air smelled like pine needles and soil and moss. As soon as she was immersed in it, Revan realized how much she had missed the forest. It was so peaceful here, so invigorating. She and Morrigan attuned themselves to the magical currents, and, hoping that they would encounter a spirit, one of the kinder beings in the Fade, instead of a demon.

For a while, they wandered, until they came to a small clearing. A Dalish hunter was lying in a pool of his own blood by a tree, having tried to pull himself to safety. He was still alive, but barely, she could tell through her second sight. Revan rushed over to his side, turning him onto his back, and noticed that his eyes were still clear. He groaned, and tried to move, but failed.

"What? Who…wh-who comes?" the hunter managed to say.

"Relax, you are safe," Revan intoned in the elven language. "You are badly wounded. What happened?"

"We were sent to find Witherfang…bring his heart…attacked…" the hunter fell unconscious.

The blood in Revan's temple began to pulse as her anger rose. These werewolves needed to be destroyed before they hurt any more of her people. That was when she noticed the vague light in her second sight that was slowly enclosing them: werewolves. She screamed a warning before the first beast appeared at the edge of the clearing. It growled at them, its yellow eyes flashing and its posture suggesting that it was preparing to attack. It opened its mouth. Revan didn't give it the chance to attack, as she lunged at it with all the ferocity she possessed, her previous injuries forgotten. The beast, despite being surprised, was nimble, and barely managed to dodge her attack. She whipped her swords in an arc as the werewolf took a swipe at her with its long claws. Other werewolves were joining the battle, but her friends were proving capable of holding their own. She plunged her sword into the creature's chest and spun around to face her next attacker. First, she cut off one of its paws, then, using the Force to prevent it from retaliating as she recovered her swing, she slit its throat. Another appeared, and she cut at its leg. The werewolf dodged, but stumbled. As Revan raised her blades to pierce its chest, a searing pain ripped through her shoulder. With a yell, she spun, cutting off the head of the beast that had ambushed her from behind, then turned back to the other as it raked her chest. Its claws did not cut as deep as they would have, for Revan managed to arch away enough to avoid the brunt of the attack. Then, she sliced at its waist, and disemboweled it. She moved on, slaying another two beasts before the small pack was slaughtered. She observed the carnage around her as her magical leather armor repaired itself. Then, breathing hard and sweating, Revan returned to the hunter, who had not been injured further in the fight. She ordered Sten to help her move the hunter, and they escorted him back to the Dalish camp.

Mithra found them near the camp's clearing. " _Andaran atishan_ , _Mi'harel_. Our scouts saw you approaching with the body of one of our hunters."

"Yes. He was ambushed by the foul beasts. We found him alive, luckily," Revan growled.

The hunter examined her compatriot and checked his pulse. "Ah, Deygan. He is wounded, but I believe he will live. _Ma serannas_. Let us take him to the Keeper, and quickly."

Mithra and another hunter took hold of the unconscious hunter's arms and slipped them from the shoulders of Revan and Sten. She winced as his hand brushed her wounded shoulder, irritating the wound despite the leather protecting it. Zevran noticed the wince, and an expression of worry crossed his face. Once Deygan was situated between Mithra and another hunter, they returned to their camp, and Revan led them back into the woods to continue looking for something to bypass the barrier with.

Revan was irritated at being forced to stop their quest. She wanted to barge into the werewolves' lair and slaughter them all. Then the threat would be ended, and they could deal with the real issue of the Blight. Stopping to care for a hunter was a waste of precious time. So, she strode ahead of the others, restless, her pulse still elevated. _Bah-dah-dah-dum,_ it echoed in her veins, in her temples, in her neck, in her chest. And, the forest was warmer than usual, adding to her annoyance. She wiped off the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as she pushed aside a fern.

Then, Zevran was by her side, having jogged to catch up to her. He stared at her face.

"What is it?" she snapped at him. He recoiled, stunned by her harsh reply. Instantly, Revan regretted her temper. She took a breath to calm herself.

"Are you all right? You do not look well," he asked sincerely.

Revan dismissed his concern. "I'm fine. Worry about yourself; the forest has other surprises for us."

He was silent for a moment before asking, "Are you wounded?"

"I'm fine."

"No you are not. Are you wounded?" he asked again.

"Nothing serious. I'm fine," she repeated.

"Let me look at it. I am quite skilled with injuries, surprisingly," he offered. "Must come with constantly inflicting them, I suppose."

"We don't have time," she responded curtly.

With a scowl, Zevran swung his leg around too quickly for her to respond, and she found herself face-down on the ground. She spit out a clump of dirt and, assuming that he was going to kill her, snarled, "Go on! Finish your contract, _len'alas lath'din_!"

"Wow, that hurts," Zevran put a knee in the small of her back to keep her down, actually sounding slightly offended. "And I have been nothing but a friend to you."

At that moment, Morrigan and Sten caught up to them. They did not say a word, but Revan assumed they wore puzzled expressions.

"Something is wrong. And she refuses to let me help her. Sten, I need you to keep her pinned to the ground so she can't move. Morrigan, she's going to struggle, I need you to prevent her from using magic."

"Why would we do that?" Morrigan wondered skeptically.

"Let me show you," Zevran said. Revan heard the scrape of a dagger being drawn from its sheath, so she tried bucking her back to remove his knee from her back. If she was going to die, she wanted to fight back. They would not survive her fury regardless. If only she could get the puny elf off her back…

Then, a larger, stronger hand pushed her down; Sten was holding her down. Sten, who had watched her back countless times, was betraying her. She tried summoning the Force to counteract his strength, but she found herself sapped of energy. Morrigan, it seemed, had also betrayed her. She released a guttural scream. The knife came down, but it did not touch her flesh. Instead, it cut away the leather over her wounded shoulder. Revan felt the leather being pried away. A hiss of alarm followed.

"That isn't..." Morrigan began with concern.

"I'm afraid it is," Zevran replied wearily. He sighed. "Ah, Revan, forgive me. I should have realized sooner."

"What do we do, then?" Sten asked gruffly. "We cannot leave her behind. Do we take her back to the elves?"

"What are you all talking about?" Revan inquired, panic suddenly gripping her.

She saw Zevran's form stand and walk to her head. He lowered himself so he was looking at her at eye level. "You…you were bitten, by a werewolf. The infection has passed into you. I'm sorry, Revan."

Her anger dissipated, leaving her feeling hollow. She closed her eyes and swallowed. "That would explain the sweating. And the change in temperament. And please, do not apologize, I should be apologizing for snapping at you. I am…"

"Not yourself," Zevran finished for her, giving her a sad smile in understanding. "It is fine. But, I agree with Sten, we should take you back to camp. They can treat you, slow the infection until we retrieve the heart—"

"No," Revan said with quiet force. Zevran immediately went silent. "I will not sit idly. While I am still human, I will help and fight. And, I would rather die with a sword in hand than on a cot."

Zevran raised his head, exchanging glances, with the others, before making eye contact with her again. "We will be keeping an eye on you. Several, actually."

A cool sensation passed through her shoulder as Morrigan applied a salve to the wound, then the feeling of the leather mending itself. Then, the pressure lifted off her back as Sten released her. Zevran bounced to his feet and offered a hand up, which she took. Her body was hurting again, the pain of the infection reinflaming the pain from the Tower. She swayed unsteadily, but she refused help from her friends to stabilize her. What alarmed her was the rate at which the infection was spreading: usually, from what Marethari had told her, the infection took a day to manifest itself, and then, over the course of two to three days, it would worsen until the victim transformed into a werewolf permanently, if they did not perish first. Her infection, however, had rapidly progressed. She did not know how much time she had before her demise; all the more reason to stay away from the clan, in case she should turn rabid unexpectedly.

Having regained her balance, she looked them each in the eye before saying, "When I turn into a beast, if I do not perish first, I need you all to kill me."

"But, if we retrieve the heart—" Zevran suggested.

She shook her head. "I might cause untold damage if I am near something or someone. I do not want to be cured, just to find that I have killed one of you, or an innocent. I do not want to spend the rest of my life wondering if I did that, either. And…I am not entirely sure that the heart would cure me."

The three of them exchanged glances, but they did not argue with her further, instead looking at her with unexpected worry. "There is one way we might slow the change…" Morrigan began.

"Yes?" Zevran asked eagerly.

"The curse changes a person from human to beast, correct? So we have to prevent her from losing her humanity."

Sten looked to Revan, then back to Morrigan. "And how would you suggest doing that?"

Morrigan looked uncertain. "I do not know, I merely made a suggestion. I suppose invoking a memory or strong emotion might help."

Zevran looked directly at Revan, and she could see what he was thinking: Carth. He cleared his throat and announced without looking away, "I will take care of that. Now, let's continue this, yes? The quicker we find a key to the barrier, the quicker we can heal Revan."

There were no complaints against this.

* * *

 

"Ask a question and you'll get a question, but give an answer and you'll receive the same! Oh, I do love to trade!" the jittery hermit exclaimed.

Revan glowered at him, feeling her anger build again in frustration. After her little incident, they had encountered a group of sylvans which they had been forced to cut down and then burn. However, they had also found one that had been possessed by a spirit of intelligence and wisdom, and it had asked them, in return for safe passage through the forest, to find the thief that had stolen his acorn. Morrigan had turned into a dog in order to follow the scent, and thus they had found the hermit, camped up in a small ruin, ranting and raving. It was obvious that he was a mage, and Revan would have gladly killed him, but she knew that he most likely had protected the acorn, so the only way to retrieve it was to play this game with him.

She sighed. "Would you like to ask me a question?"

"I think it is your turn to ask, is it not?" the hermit said. His frantic eyes darted between her and whatever imaginary things were lurking around them.

"Fine: do you have the Grand Oak's acorn?" she said bluntly.

"Ahhhhh….suddenly it all becomes clear," the hermit pronounced, looking as if he had just discovered a great secret. "You here, the talking tree there, it all makes sense now. As a matter of fact, yes, I do have that tree's acorn. I stole it and it was easy! Silly tree should have locked it up tighter! If you want it, you'll have to trade me for it. And nothing from that silly tree…no leaves or branches or anything. But that's all I have to say about that. An answer for an answer. Now it's my turn. Hmmm…what will be the first? Oh, yes! What is your name?"

"Winifred," she lied easily.

"A-ha! So you claim!" the hermit's mad eyes lit up. "They sent you, didn't they? But you're too tricky, and you're trying to fool me! Well, I'm onto you! Just so you know. But it is your turn to ask now. Ask! Ask away! I dare you!"

Revan was growing very frustrated, and she could feel the curse spreading as the urge to kill the hermit grew stronger. She forced herself to ask, "Can I trade you for the acorn?"

"Oho! And what do you have to trade for the acorn?" he wondered like a merchant, greed taking the place of madness for the moment.

She didn't have time for this stupid game. She drew her sword with a flash and held it against the hermit's throat. His eyes changed immediately to fright, and he raised his hands nonthreateningly.

"How about your life?" she suggested.

"But that's not fair! I already have that!" he complained.

She pressed the blade closer. "Not for long."

"Nope! No deal! You can't have it!" he said, his madness preventing him from realizing that Revan was serious.

But she needed that acorn. And her blood was beginning to pound. Her pulse was quickening to a four-beat rhythm. And her fury was greater than it had been since her time as Dark Lord. So, she did what she would have done all those years ago: she ripped through his mind, tearing away at the madness until she discovered what he had done with the acorn. All his memories, his madness, surrounded her, but she ignored it. As soon as she discovered where the acorn was, she ripped the knowledge from his mind and cast the spell that revealed it. Then, she left his mind, not bothering to patch it back up. Back in her own, she saw the hermit on his knees, shaking and broken. His eyes were clouded over, his mind unable to grasp anything any longer. She reached down and retrieved the acorn, and her anger dissipated enough for her to regret such a rash action. But, her pulse was still beating. _Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum_.

"Kill him, he won't survive long anyway," she commanded.

"What did you do to him?" Zevran asked in something between awe and horror.

"Just do it," she turned away from the broken mage.

Morrigan had shifted back into human form, and was staring at her curiously. Zevran, meanwhile, was trying to reconcile what he had just witnessed with his image of the Jedi. Finally, Sten sighed and, raising his sword, chopped off the hermit's head. The severed cranium rolled away, and blood colored the ground, soaking into the soil. Another death tallied up for her. Revan looked away in distaste, running a finger up and down the side of the large acorn.

They retraced their steps to where the Grand Oak was, luckily not encountering any more beasts or sylvans. Revan's head was pounding, and the armor was hot and stifling. She could tell that the curse was beginning to take its toll, and she couldn't help wondering how long she had left.

When they found the gigantic, moving tree, it leaned down, leaves rattling, and asked in its deep, singing voice, "My acorn is still gone, so I pray to thee…hast thou any news for me?"

"Yes, we found your acorn," Revan held out the artifact, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"My joy soars to new heights indeed! I am reunited with my seed!" the oak exclaimed, reaching out with a branch and wrapping its twigs around the acorn like a wooden hand, then retracting to the behemoth's side. "As I promised, here it be. I hope its magic pleases thee. Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass through the forest free," it extended a gnarled branch in the shape of a staff, glowing with magical energy. Morrigan took it, seeing the expression on Revan's face. "I wish thee well, my mortal friends. Thou brought my sadness to an end. May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong."

The sylvan retreated into the deeper woods with its acorn, leaving the party alone. Morrigan examined the branch and, concluding that it would indeed dispel the barrier, sent out a magical pulse that would alert Wynne in the other party that they had found the solution. Knowing that it would take a while for the others to find them, Revan retreated to a nearby grassy knoll, trying to think of Carth and not how wasteful sitting there was. Carth. Not her impatience. Carth. Not how much she wanted to rip out a werewolf's throat, or dig out Witherfang's heart with her bare hands. Carth. But the thought of him was not enough to drown out her bloodlust.

She saw Zevran approaching through her closed eye, through the second sight, and almost snapped at him to leave her alone before she remembered that he was merely concerned for her welfare. He had braved her wrath in order to ascertain what was wrong with her. So, she let him approach.

He took a seat on the grass next to her and drew his knees to his chest. She could sense he was looking at her again.

"You know, there is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home," Zevran looked away, "and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you and Rose, after all, was quite an accident.

"My last mission before this one…did not end well. I think you should know what happened. Until that day I was cocky and arrogant—well, more so than I am now. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and bragged of my conquests often…both as an assassin and lover. One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise: a wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. One of my…friends in the Crows, Taliesen, agreed to be a part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna. She was…a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired. Rinna was special. I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It frightened me.

"When Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesen to kill her.

"Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn't care. Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows.

"When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant, we found the true source of his information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all. I…wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, of our mistake. Taliesen convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt. We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew…and they didn't care. And one day, my turn would come.

"You asked, in Redcliffe, why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? I swore I would never speak of what happened, to anyone. But then, all this happened. And here I am. But you know what? I am glad I am here, because otherwise, I would never have met you, who remind me so much of her, and I wouldn't have a chance to redeem myself."

Zevran did not look at her after this. Revan observed his profile, her anger and impatience gone. He had told her his darkest secret in order to restore her humanity, something she could not imagine having the courage to do. A surge of understanding and compassion swelled in her. She knew his pain, the pain of killing one you loved. As she had killed Malak. As she had betrayed Carth. Revan rested her head on his shoulder, a silent gesture of empathy, of shared suffering. He put an arm around her in turn.

A few minutes later, Rose, Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne jogged into the clearing, sweating slightly from exertion. Revan and Zevran rose and joined Morrigan and Sten, who had kindly given her space to recover. Sten made eye contact with her when she approached and asked in Qunlat if she was better. She nodded the affirmative and whispered a thank you to him, receiving a tilt of the head in kind. Morrigan was explaining how the staff would allow them to pass through the barrier to Rose when Revan noticed the slight white tinge in her eyes and the almost imperceptible taint of the Fade in her blood. It seemed that the Jedi was not the only one to have been infected, but the taint seemed to be spreading slower in Rose than in Revan. She decided against announcing the fact, knowing that it was bad form to observe a fault in the commander. If something were to happen, Revan would deal with the girl before it got out of control. Assuming that Revan was still Revan then.

The party moved through the forest, following Wynne as she tracked the magical signature of the barrier. Wynne divulged, when Zevran persisted, that she had found one of her old apprentices whom she thought had been killed by Templars living as a lone Dalish mage in the depths of the woods. She smiled, and then said that, after all those years, he had forgiven her, and at last she had found peace. Of course, Zevran then had to ruin the moment with a comment about her bosom.

The barrier was definitely magical, but it had not been erected by a mage. It was a thing of pure magical energy, probably put there by Witherfang himself. Morrigan wielded the staff, and the barrier evaporated, revealing a passage into a large complex of ancient ruins. A group of werewolves guarded the path, the lead one with a reddish-golden coat, compared to the gray pelts of the others, and scars running across his face. He snarled at them, and Revan quickly drew her blades and prepared to leap into battle, the blood boiling at the sight of the foul creatures, only to find Rose's arm across her chest, holding her back.

"No, Revan," she said. "We met him before; he is _intelligent_. He says there is a dispute between the Dalish and werewolves. I think they are trying to return to their original forms."

"He is a beast!" Revan snarled in return. "A beast that has killed my people! Vermin that need to be exterminated!"

Rose looked at her in horror, and Sten grasped her arms from behind and pulled her back, restraining her as her pulse quickened and the sweat beaded on her forehead. _Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum_. The drumming drowned out all rational thought, and all she could think of was how good it would feel to have the werewolves' blood dripping from her sword, soaking into her armor, painting her face. She could taste the iron, the warm liquid. Her hands quivered, and she had the sudden urge to rip off her stifling armor. She saw Zevran whisper something to Rose as she watched Revan strain against the Qunari. Then a look of pity crossed the young Warden's face before she returned to deal with the umber werewolf before them.

"The forest has not been vigilant enough," the werewolf spoke, approaching them. "Still you come. You are stronger than we could have anticipated. The Dalish chose well. But you do not belong here, outsider. Leave this place!"

"Please!" Rose pleaded. "I'm trying to help you!"

Revan let out a feral cry as the pounding increased, and the urge to attack built to a crescendo. She could feel Sten straining to retain her as her own strength was amplified not only by her manipulation of the Force, but by the curse spreading rampantly through her veins. The werewolf spared her a glance, and Revan could have sworn he grinned in amusement at her, serving only to cause her to fight more.

"You are sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang!" he growled, eyes darting back to Revan. "I will not stand by and allow that to happen!"

"Why do you say that? You attacked them," Rose pointed out.

"And they deserved no less! Hrrrr. You are an intruder in our home! You come to kill, as all your kind do! We have learned this lesson well. Now, leave, or I will be forced to kill you all!"

Rose bravely stood her ground, and with a roar, the beast lunged, flanked by his pack mates. Revan could not control her bloodlust at his advance; flames began dancing around her skin, dancing as they swirled around her. Sten was forced to release her, and the flames grew to an inferno around her as she shot forward to confront the werewolves. She slammed into one of the flanking beasts, barreling it over. It cried in pain as her flames scorched its skin, burning away the hair and flesh. Revan didn't even bother with her swords; she crushed his throat with a surge of the Force. Then, turning to another of the werewolves, an arc of lightning shot from her palm, striking it in the chest, transferring all its life energy to Revan as she fed the fiery tempest. Rose was facing off with the golden werewolf, while the others were unsuccessfully struggling not to kill the werewolves, just to ward them off. Revan felt her fury at their weakness build, fueling the fires. A werewolf that had stumbled backward was caught in her flames and was incinerated. Meanwhile, Revan pulled a werewolf that was attacking Morrigan away with a tug of the Force into the same inferno. She was an unstoppable force of nature now, and these meager beasts could not stand in her way.

She was about to deal with the lead werewolf, the one with the ochre coat, when a white wolf wrapped in the branches of the forest leapt in her way, braving the flames and heat, resistant to both. It was a beast of pure magical energy, held in the world only by its physical shell. It snarled in warning at her, allowing the other werewolves to flee as it stalled Revan. The Jedi screamed in rage, but the look in the wolf's eyes—one of compassion, of concern, and of sympathy—halted her. The inferno, no longer supported by her anger, died down, leaving Revan feeling weak and in pain.

 _I am sorry, my daughter,_ the wolf spoke in her mind. _You must understand that I have to protect my children, just as you must protect your own people. But there is much that you do not yet understand._

Revan could not look away, could not move, she could just stare at the wolf before her. This must be Witherfang. But, the voice in her head was not the violent, raving beast that Zathrian had described; it was the voice of a mother, of nature embodied in a physical form. The wolf abandoned its defensive pose, took one last glance at Revan and the rest of the party, and bounded away after the werewolves. The Jedi, hollow now after her expenditures, fell to her knees in the packed dirt. The others rushed over to her side.

"Dragonheart…" Rose laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Keep going," Revan said emotionless. "Find the truth of the matter, bring peace to my people. I…I cannot continue with you. You must leave me behind; I am a danger to those around me."

The Warden opened her mouth to object, but they both knew it was true. Revan's condition was worsening by the minute; it was a matter of hours now before she would turn into a werewolf. And even then, with all her magic and her additional soul, she was not sure that she could be cured. It would be better if she sought her end in the deep forest. If she continued with the others, she not only posed a threat to them, but she would not be able to contain herself at the sight of another werewolf. Rose bowed her head in acceptance, causing Alistair to gasp.

"We can't just leave her here!" Zevran complained at seeing Rose's agreement.

"You have to," Revan insisted. "I will go into the forest, away from anything that I can hurt."

"I don't understand! Why are we leaving her here? What's going on, General?" Alistair mustered the wits to ask.

She managed to look the lad in the face. "I was bitten."

Understanding visibly crossed his face, and he looked away in grief. Rose squeezed her shoulder, and left to comfort Alistair. Zevran gave her a sad look, also squeezing her shoulder in a silent goodbye. Sten came and stood in front of her and offered her a hand up. She took it, and taking his other hand, used some of her remaining energy to heal the minor burns on his callused palms. When she released them, the Qunari looked down at his hands, his expression again inscrutable, before suddenly wrapping Revan in a brief bear hug. He quickly released her and walked away in embarrassment.

The others finished giving their goodbyes, and continued into the ruins with a subdued air. She was the first casualty in their quest, but she could tell that the others still had hope that she would be saved if they could defeat Witherfang. But standing there, the sweat pooling on her skin, she was doubtful. Shakily, she turned around and headed away from the ruins. However, after a few minutes of just walking, her body was wracked with pain, and she had to spend all her energy merely on forcing her feet to move. The Jedi wandered blindly through the forest, trying vainly to stay away from any creature that she could harm if she transformed. The pain was not all her own: after Witherfang had touched her mind, the presence remained. As she walked, the pain grew stronger, and she could feel the consciousness of the other werewolves. She could feel the pain of their shape, of their bloodlust, of their rejection by nature itself. But there was also a light, a ray of hope: a lady of the forest, Witherfang in a different form. The Lady, as their thoughts addressed her, gave them hope that the curse would be lifted. Lifted, as it were, by Zathrian. Suddenly, the pieces snapped into place, but Revan in her delirious state could barely comprehend its significance.

Zathrian had started the curse.

In a way, she felt betrayed. She had put her faith in the Keeper. Blindly, she had thought that one chosen to lead her people was as wise as a Jedi Master. The anger began again, the pain deadening all reason, leaving only a hollow feeling that her rage slowly filled. Betrayal. How could she have trusted him? She should have seen the warning signs: Mithra not divulging her identity, the gleam in his eye as Zathrian sent them on this mad quest, the feeling that he was using them, and Zevran's observation that not all was being spoken.

The thoughts fed her anger, but all her physical energy was draining from her limbs. She collapsed against a large, moss-covered oak. Revan wished that she could become that oak, impervious to pain and suffering, stoic, majestic, unyielding. The oak knew nothing of anger and betrayal, of lost love and guilt. It stood, impassively observing the world. With the last of her strength, she cursed the tree and all its apathy. Why should she, who had already suffered so much, suffer this pain as well? She closed her eye and tried to grasp her quickly-fading humanity. Feeling it slip, Revan drew her dagger and pressed it to her own throat. She would not live in pain and anger for the rest of her existence. The dagger shook in her hand, and the thought crossed her mind that she may not be able to commit suicide. She took a deep breath, preparing.

"So, I see the mighty _Mi'harel_ has fallen," a voice mocked, interrupting her preparation of self-sacrifice.

Revan opened her eye and tilted her head to see the form of Zathrian standing over her, a smug grin plastered evilly on his tattooed face. His arms were crossed, and his posture triumphant.

"Zathrian," she all but spat. He laughed.

"It's a wonder that Marethari allowed a beast like you to become one of us," he sneered. "Of course, I recognized you the minute you walked into camp, from the scars across your face. She should have known that someone violent enough to kill a dragon could never understand us, people who once revered such beasts."

"You…know nothing…of me," Revan wheezed as her anger built and the pain crushed her chest.

Zathrian raised a brow. "Oh? I don't? I know more of your kind than you think. You pretend to be our friend, then when our backs are turned, you drive a knife between our shoulder blades."

 _Bah-dah-dah-dum_.

"You come only to destroy what we have barely managed to scrape together. You care nothing for us."

 _Bah-dah-dah-dum_. _Bah-dah-dah-dum._

"Just like your people cared nothing about what they did to my children. Like they didn't care that they murdered my son, raped my daughter, and left her for dead."

 _Bah-dah-dah-dum_. _Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum_.

"You have no honor, no concept of the suffering you have caused. You cannot conceive what we have been through. You have no idea what it is like, to lose everything, to be a slave, a fugitive on the run!"

Revan rose to her feet, ignoring the pain. _Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum. Bah-dah-dah-dum._ She clenched her fist, and blood dripped from where her nails dug into her palm. Unconsciously, her anger took shape, swirling around her in dark clouds. This strange pain, which strengthened her power and emotion even as it drained her body.

"I have no idea?" Revan began softly, fearing that if she raised her voice any higher she would not be able to contain herself. "You know nothing of me, Zathrian. _Nothing._ For I have been a slave, a fugitive; I have seen things just as horrible as you, or any other Dalish. You know _nothing_.

"I was abandoned young, when I could barely form words. I was dropped by the door of a cottage, and the man and his wife took me in. But I was always mistreated by their children, never given enough to eat, made to sleep with the animals.

"They were slaves to a plantation owner, who worked them to the bone. When I could walk on my own, I was put in the fields, made to work from sunup to sundown. When I slowed, I was whipped. When I didn't pick enough, I was whipped. When the taskmaster was drunk or angry, I was whipped. My foster father often spoke of how, if one of the family was educated enough to earn a position in the mansion, the owner might give them their freedom, but he refused to teach _me_ anything. And then, when I was five, the owner took a liking to me and forced me to be a servant in his mansion. My foster parents tried to use my new position in the mansion to secure their own freedom, but our owner was harsh, and he had them killed before me. I was forced to watch as he beheaded them with a vibrosword, followed by their children. 'Belligerence breeds belligerence,' my owner said. All I could do was watch.

"A few weeks later, he made the mistake of slapping me. On instinct, I used my power to slam him into the wall, and his neck broke. I was accused of murdering him, and I was forced to flee. I managed to make it to a city with a port, and smuggled myself, starving and dirty, into the storage of one of the ships. They discovered me at the next port when they realized some of their rations were missing, and they dragged me out, kicking and screaming, into the port. They tossed me around, debating what to do with me. They were pirates. You can imagine the options. I fell back on my power, trying to protect myself.

"That's when my teacher found me, my Master. She was on a mission in the area, and she felt my power. She swooped in, rescued me, and took me back with her to be trained. After that day, I freed as many slaves as I could in my travels.

"I know _exactly_ what your people have gone through, Zathrian. I know, because I went through it too. And I'm sorry about your daughter and son. I truly am. But these werewolves…I have seen into their minds. You cursed them, Zathrian, so many centuries ago. Those that inflicted the crime are long since dead. And the pain…the horrible pain. Can you understand that? The constant agony of just existing?"

Zathrian regarded her, the smug grin gone. His eyes were not pitying, not compassionate, not understanding, but they seemed to recognize that she was not that different from the elves in his clan. He sighed and shook his head.

"What would you have me do, _Mi'harel_? You can also feel their anger, I suppose. I am still angry as well, even after all these centuries. Where both sides hate, there can be no resolution," he stated.

"They may still be angry, but they are not unwilling to cooperate. They just wish you to break the curse."

"I cannot," Zathrian repeated, "without the heart."

"Cannot, or will not?" Revan asked pointedly. Zathrian opened his mouth to respond, but he could not. "Here is what I propose: meet with the spirit you summoned so long ago, and see if there is some way to break the curse without bloodshed. Not for me, or the werewolves, but for your people."

Zathrian considered this. He began pacing, thinking of the other options, but they both knew there were none. Finally, the Keeper stopped pacing.

"All right, I will meet with it. If anything, it will allow me to extract the heart myself."

Revan teetered over to him, muttering, "Well, I'm going to make sure that you keep your word."

"Is that necessary?"

She shot him a withering look. "You betrayed me once, I won't let you have the opportunity to do so again. You better pray that I do not transform while we travel."

The Keeper grimaced, but did not protest further. They set off for the ruins, Zathrian knowing their exact location. Her pulse and anger abated a bit, and Revan wondered if he was using magic to slow the taint in her. When they reached the ruins, there were no beasts protecting it, but the occasional corpse left behind by Rose and the others as they had forced their way inside.

It was a massive complex, barely noticeable on the surface, but extensive underground. It reminded her of the spot Duncan had found Lyna, of the ruin with the _Eluvian_. The architecture was also similar, not entirely elven, but perhaps some hybrid of elven and human. They descended into the large central chamber, supported by columns several stories high, with dim sunlight filtering through the holes in the roof, through the vines and moss gathering, and the sprouts of gnarled trees that had attempted to root in the chamber. The stones under their feet were cracked, some having fallen away to reveal the dirt beneath. In the center of the room, at the bottom of the stairs, was a raised, circular platform, bordered on each side by various corridors leading to other parts of the ruin. And, from the right-hand corridor appeared Rose, flanked by Alistair and Zevran, followed by the rest. Revan and Zathrian were on the bottom few steps, Zathrian standing tall and proud, Revan sweating profusely and obviously fighting the pain that ebbed in her veins. Rose gave a start at seeing them.

"Ah, and here you are already," Zathrian greeted her coldly.

"What are you…" Rose looked between the Keeper and Revan, the words dying on her lips.

"Your fellow Grey Warden brought me here. I can tell you do not have the heart, so I wonder: why are you leaving the ruin?"

Rose glanced at the ailing Jedi before answering. "I've been sent to bring you back to the Lady of the Forest."

"Oh? Is that what the spirit calls herself now? And what does she want with me, if I might enquire?" Zathrian pretended like he did not already know.

The young Warden suspected as much. "What is it you think she wants?"

"To survive, I suspect. That is the common nature amongst all such creatures, the will to survive," he intoned. "You do understand that she actually _is_ Witherfang?"

"We thought as much," Rose grumbled.

Zathrian smirked, then rambled in a scholarly fashion, "She is the powerful spirit of this ancient forest that I summoned long ago and bound in the body of a wolf. Her nature is that of the forest itself: beautiful and terrible, serene and savage, maiden and beast. She is the Lady and Witherfang both, two sides of a single being. The curse came first from her. Those she afflicted with it mirrored her own nature, becoming both savage beast as well as human."

"But they are regaining their minds," Alistair pointed out from beside her.

"Perhaps they are, perhaps they aren't. Remember, they attacked my clan, and they were the same savages then that they have ever been. They deserve to be wiped out and not defended. You did not see what they did to my son. To my daughter. And so many others," Zathrian hung his head, his pain finally showing.

"But it's your own people suffering now, as well as them," Wynne sagely said.

"And that is why I agreed to come here in the first place," he fumed. "I will talk with them, so long as you promise to safeguard me from harm."

Rose considered this. "I will, unless you attack first."

"Then let us see what the spirit has to say," the Keeper strode past Rose, down the corridor and the flight of steps that the others had come from. Sparing Revan a pained glance, Rose turned and rushed after Zathrian to make sure that he did not do something foolish. Alistair gave his mentor a pitying smile before following his love. However, Zevran and Sten rushed to her side, Morrigan following them slightly less enthused but just as concerned. Sten looped his arm around her waist and draped her arm over his broad shoulders, supporting her and alleviating some of the pain. They questioned her, made sure she was not in immediate risk of dying, fused over how they regretted leaving her behind, and finally, after her impatience began to show through, escorted her down to where the Lady of the Forest waited.

They walked in when Zathrian shouted, "Who they are has not changed from whom their ancestors were. Wild savages! Worthless dogs! Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts!"

Upon a pedestal, bordered by green trees and bathed in a watery light, stood a lady with skin like leaves, clothed by branches. Her black hair hung straight, whispering like the wind when she moved. Her mind spoke in her head like the rustle of leaves, faint yet there. Beside her stood the golden werewolf and several other, grey beasts. They were snarling at Zathrian, but they were held in check by the command of the Lady.

"He will not help us, Lady! It is as I warned you! He is not here to talk!" the russet-gold wolf growled.

"No, I am here to talk," Zathrian contradicted, "though I see little point in it. We all know where this will lead. Your nature compels it, as does mine."

"It does not have to be that way," the Lady said. It was the same voice Revan had heard when Witherfang had spoken in her head. It echoed in her mind as she said the words. "There is room in your heart for compassion, Zathrian. Surely your retribution is spent."

"My retribution is eternal, spirit, as is my pain," he rebutted. "This is justice, no more."

"Are you certain your pain is the only reason you will not end this curse? Have you told the mortals how it was created?"

Rose cleared her throat. "He said he summoned you and bound you to a wolf."

"And so he did," the spirit said, almost sadly. "Witherfang and I are bound as one being. But such powerful magic could not be accomplished without Zathrian's own blood. Your people believe you have rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors, Zathrian, yet that is not true. So long as the curse exists, so do you."

"No, that is not how it is!" he yelled in defiance.

"Of course blood magic is involved," Alistair mumbled. "I should learn to expect that."

"How far will you go for your revenge, Zathrian?" Leliana condescended.

Zathrian looked around him in fury. "I did it for my people! I did it for my son and my daughter! For them, for justice, I would do anything!"

"The curse would not end with Zathrian's death. His life, however, relies on its existence. And I believe that his death plays a part in its ending," the Lady announced to everyone.

"Then we kill him! We tear him apart now!" the tawny werewolf readied to attack.

Then Revan began to laugh. Everyone turned to look at her, even the supernatural spirit. But Revan was beyond pain now. The entire thing seemed silly and obvious. So she laughed. "Did you not listen to what she said?" Revan wheezed between giggles. "Killing him won't solve a damn thing. He has to freely give his life to end the curse."

The Keeper's face turned stormy. "So, that is what it comes down to? That is why you brought me here, _Mi'harel_? To kill myself, when even you could not?"

Revan burst into a renewed fit of laughter. "I was preparing to kill myself to protect my people, if it came to it. You have already damned them to the same fate as me."

The storm vanished, leaving only his indignant, guilty face that he tried to turn away. Even the werewolves seemed subdued.

"So, the question becomes this: will you continue on your path for revenge," Revan began, all laughter suddenly gone, "and let your clan, your people, suffer like I am, or will you show mercy?"

The Keeper looked at her in guilt. His anger had vanished with her stern reminder of his duties to the Dalish. "I have…lived too long. This hatred in me is like an ancient, gnarled root. It has consumed my soul. What of you, spirit? You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

The spirit regarded Revan for another moment before turning her unnerving gaze back to Zathrian. "You are my maker, Zathrian. You gave me form and consciousness where none existed. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is life. Yet of all things I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, maker, put an end to me. _We_ beg you, show mercy."

The werewolves purred in agreement, a sound that was both haunting and saddening. Zathrian lowered his head, considering. She could see him weighing whether his justice was worth more than his people. But, she already knew what his answer would be, what any Keeper's answer would be. At long last, he sighed. "You shame me, spirit. I am an old man, alive long past his time. I…I think it is time. Let us put an end to it."

The Keeper approached Revan, a strange expression on his face. He removed a necklace from around his neck, a metallic shard hung from a leather thong, and handed it to her. "As you make this request of me, I make one of you: give this to Lanaya. She will know what it means."

Revan nodded her assent. Zathrian gave her a small, sad smile, and ascended the pedestal to his fate. He summoned his power, a flurry that surrounded him. He prepared the area for the release of the magic. And then, he slammed his staff on the ground. The magic within him was released, and he crumpled to the ground, his life released with his power and his curse. The Lady looked on, surrounded by the werewolves that loved her, who reached out and touched her before she left. Suddenly, she was consumed in a bright yellow flame, and a white burst of magical light followed, blinding everyone. When the light dispersed, however, the werewolves were no longer beasts, but humans. Their eyes still glinted a silvery-yellow, like they had when bestial, but they were human.

The humans looked at their hands, their feet, touched each other's faces and hair, marveling at their new bodies. Meanwhile, Revan's head began to clear; no longer was the insistent drumming pounding away at her skull, and her body cooled back to its normal temperature, and strength returned to her limbs. She felt weary, as if she could sleep for a week. And there, Revan vowed that she would never be ruled by anger again; her actions had been far too close to those she had taken as a Sith Lord for her comfort.

The human that had been the tawny werewolf approached Rose and gave a sort of awkward half-bow.

"It's…over," the man said, testing out his new voice. "She's gone, and…we're human. I can scarcely believe it."

Rose smiled at him, studiously ignoring the body of the Keeper lying on the ground. "What are you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "We'll leave the forest, I suppose. Find other humans, see what's out there for us. It should be quite interesting, don't you think? Thank you. We…we'll never forget you."

Turning away, he rounded up all the other new humans and led them out on their new exodus into a new world. Rose watched them go with a smile upon her face.


	14. Act XIV

Act XIV: Dalish Camp

_Revan_

"Stop fussing!" Revan heard Rose cry, followed by Alistair's gentle fussing. Revan twisted her neck from her place on her own cot to catch a glimpse of the couple. Alistair was trying to change the bandages around Rose's werewolf bite, which he had changed a mere ten minutes earlier. Then, hooking a hand around his neck, she drew him down for a kiss. Revan watched, feeling both happy for the couple, yet also wistful. Less than a year ago, she had been the happy woman, playfully teasing her lover and making everyone else sick.

"Ah, young love," a voice said from beside her. She twisted the other way to find Zevran sitting beside her, also staring at the Wardens.

"It's good to see that some of us have found happiness in these dark times," Revan smiled sadly.

Zevran's face darkened. "Indeed."

She studied his features. Obviously, he was having conflicting feelings. About Rose? In sympathy, she laid a hand on his arm, and his eyes darted to hers. He put on his charming smile, trying to assure her that he was all right, but Revan knew better. Now that she knew about his past, she knew he was far from okay. He was broken, much like Revan once had been.

"So, how are you feeling after a good night's sleep, eh, _General_?" Zevran asked cheerfully, having also adopted Alistair's nickname for her.

She guffawed. "Back to normal. When my strength returned, I stitched the wounds closed myself. No use waiting around for them to heal. I offered to do the same for Rose, but I think she thought it would offend 'Mother' Alistair."

Zevran laughed, forgetting about his pain for a moment. Revan smiled along with him. He helped her sit up, and they chatted for a bit. Zevran relayed what he had learned about what had happened to the others in the forest: Wynne had found one of her old apprentices, one that she thought had been murdered by Templars, and she found peace with her past. Leliana had been ambushed by Orlesian mercenaries sent by her old master to kill her. And, of course, they had been attacked by werewolves multiple times, where Rose was bitten. He also mentioned that hunters had been dispatched to retrieve Zathrian's body, meaning the burial would be in the next few days. Revan hoped they would stay long enough to attend. Zathrian had been, after all, the first person she had told of her childhood. She had a bond to him, even if she despised what he had done.

She rose from the cot. There were things she had to attend to. Zevran walked next to her silently, loyal despite everything she had done and said. Sten, sitting nearby, soon joined them, the large, looming presence Revan had become accustomed to.

Revan made her way to the Keeper's _aravel_ , where Lanaya was preparing to undergo the ritual to make her the official Keeper. The ceremony was planned for that night, where, as her first order as Keeper, she would pledge help to the Wardens. They had discussed this as soon as they had returned from the ruins. It was unusual to appoint a new Keeper before the funeral of the old, but Lanaya realized that time was of the essence for them.

Lanaya bowed to her, having been told of her position in the clans. " _Aneth ara, Mi'harel_. I see you are feeling better."

"Indeed," Revan bowed back, followed by Zevran and Sten. They had gained enough respect for the Dalish over the day they had spent in the camp to show manners. "I must thank you for your kind treatment of my companions and me, _Keeper_ Lanaya."

"Of course," she smiled. "You are _Lethallan_ , a member of the clans, as your actions have proved. Your friends are our friends. But…it will take time getting used to being called 'Keeper'."

"You will be a great Keeper, I can tell," Revan laid a hand on her shoulder. "You are wise beyond your years, and Zathrian was a good teacher. However, there is another matter I wished to discuss."

"Yes?" Lanaya waited.

Revan took the necklace Zathrian had given her from around her neck and presented it to her. There had not been time earlier to give it to his First, and she was sure that it would be better to give it to her in a more private setting, especially since Revan did not know its meaning.

Lanaya took it, examined it, obviously perturbed by its significance. "He…gave this to you?"

"To give to you, yes," Revan explained. "He said you would know what it meant."

Her eyes darted from the necklace to Revan and back again. "I…this can't really be…I can't believe…"

"Believe what?" the Jedi politely interrupted Lanaya's mental confusion.

The Keeper took a deep breath. "Zathrian once told me…that this was given to him by his old master, as a token to always remember her lessons. And, when the time came, his old master would give it to me."

Revan looked at her in confusion. "How can _I_ be Zathrian's old master? Zathrian was centuries old!"

"I know," Lanaya sighed. "That's what doesn't make sense."

They stared at each other for a moment, seeing if perhaps there was some hint of meaning in the other. But, there was none. Revan bid Lanaya goodbye, wishing her luck in the ceremony, and proceeded to find her next target. Her face puckered in bewildered confusion. Behind her, she could tell Sten and Zevran were exchanging puzzled expressions.

They found Morrigan by the pen holding the hallas, the deer-like beasts that pulled the _aravels_. She was assisting the keeper of the hallas with tending a wound on one of the beasts. The werewolves, it seemed, had not just bitten the elves. Morrigan was soothing the beast, while the keeper treated the bite to prevent any more natural infection from taking root. Revan and the two males waited a respectful distance away, in case their presence, and more notably Revan's presence, frightened it.

When the halla was properly bandaged, Morrigan approached them. Her face, normally scrunched in an agitated glare, was more peaceful after having been with the beasts. She glanced at the party with a cursory look before asking, "Yes, General? Is there something I can assist you with?"

A little frown formed on Revan's face at the continued use of her nickname, but she decidedly ignored it. "Actually, there was something I wanted to give you." She gave Zevran and Sten a look to let them know that this was a private conversation, and they backed off a ways. Revan led Morrigan a safe distance away, where no one would see the object, before presenting the witch with a cloth-covered item. "I should have given it to you earlier, but, as you can imagine, I was curious myself. I discovered it in the Circle Tower. It belonged to your mother."

Morrigan took the cloth and folded it back to reveal the leather surface of the spell tome. "Flemeth's grimoire! But…you had it? And you _read_ it, without my knowledge?"

"I had to make sure there was nothing in it that was too…" she searched for the words, "…dangerous. Too risky for you to know. Your mother knows things that are best forgotten."

The witch flung open the grimoire in haste. "Tis indeed her secret language…and her handwriting. But how did you read it?"

"It's not that secret; it is written in my tongue."

Morrigan spared the Jedi an angry glare before translating the first page. "You should have given it to me immediately. It is rightfully mine."

"But its secrets are not," Revan insisted. "There are things that she knows that she doesn't even understand. And as much as you want to be able to combat her, to be her equal, it is too dangerous for anyone else to know them. Look at what happened to me. And besides, that is not her real grimoire."

"It's not?" she looked up in surprise.

"No; it deals with a different topic. That is why I needed to give it to you. You _do_ have the right to this secret."

The raven girl examined the older woman's serious expression for a moment before the anger vanished, replaced by worry. "All right. And…thank you. I should assume that you have a good reason for your actions…much as I may not agree with them."

Revan gave her a small nod before returning to camp, the two boys eventually joining her again. There was still much work to be done.

* * *

 

_Zevran_

Zevran had never realized how much a grown man could look like a baby. Not until Alistair almost broke down in the slums of Denerim. But he shouldn't have been surprised; Alistair was not exactly the manliest of men.

After the incredibly solemn and depressing funeral for the villain that all the hoodwinked Dalish still viewed as their blessed Keeper, the party had managed to tear Revan away from the Dalish camp. They had then progressed onwards to Denerim, the capital of the marvelous state of Ferelden. The journey from the forest to the city was blissfully uneventful, the roads being well-paved and well-traversed enough by soldiers to discourage bandits, though that made the going a bit more difficult, considering that they were technically fugitives. Though, considering that he, a trained Crow assassin, had failed to kill these Wardens, he doubted that a simple patrol could do much damage.

The city, however, was another matter. Antiva City, his home, though not exactly clean, had sparkled with its own radiance. Nestled in the crown of Antiva, its residents took pleasure in bedazzling their humble abodes with at least a decent coat of paint and a few flowers here and there. Even the shacks in the slums were tended, if poorly, by their tenants. The main roads, and most of the side roads, were paved with stone, and the back streets were often swept regularly. There were sewers and drainage ditches and perfumes that tried to mask the scent of shit and piss. In short, Antiva City at least made an effort to appear beautiful. Denerim, in contrast, was a shithole. The streets, even the main thoroughfares, were just packed dirt. Ruddy Ferelden women poured their chamber pots out onto the flat streets, sometimes straight onto the heads of unfortunate pedestrians. There were no ditches to carry the waste elsewhere, and no vague perfume from flowers to even attempt to cover up the awful scent. The houses were mere structures, with no elegance and nothing to indicate that their residents cared. All the buildings were some shade of dirt. In short, the city was ugly. Zevran could not understand why any sane person would chose to live in a cesspool like Denerim, much less a pious monk like this Brother Genitivi they were searching for.

Upon entering the city, Revan was forced to cover her face from the overpowering smells. Zevran almost laughed at her for her weak nose, but he quickly remembered that her dragon-like senses might be more sensitive than his. Rose had forced Morrigan to wear something a little less suggestive than her normal attire when they entered, much to his disappointment, so her wild looks didn't attract much attention now. The party kept their heads down, and they managed to make it into the Market District, where the overwhelming lack of personal space made private conversations possible. Rose grouped them near the main pavilion, and Revan made sure they could not be overheard with some magic or Jedi trick. Rose met each of their eyes before speaking.

"Now, I realize that we have several…issues that need to be dealt with," the red-head began. Her hair was redder than even the dyed strands of the exotic whores that Zevran had known, causing him to continually stare at it while she spoke. He couldn't help it; her hair was captivating. He didn't understand how it could be so red naturally. "Leliana, I know you have some...unfinished business to attend to. And Alistair, you as well. But Brother Genitivi still needs to be found."

"I will go find this Brother Genitivi," Wynne volunteered, her exquisitely carved face announced stoically. Zevran could also not help but gaze at her. Indeed, for a woman of her years, she had aged impeccably well. Then, she turned her bright gaze on the large, imposing Qunari. "Sten, why don't you accompany me?"

The bronze-skinned giant (and the common description suited him well, for despite his lack of horns, he was still menacing) looked at her through his cold, violet eyes. He gave a quick glance to the Jedi, whom he surprisingly regarded as his superior, before resignedly nodding his assent. Revan gave him an encouraging smile in response.

"It is best I go alone," the Orlesian rogue spoke in her thick accent. Again, Zevran's eyes rested on Leliana's fair complexion, her fine Orlesian features, and her warm eyes. "Marjolaine is…dangerous. I would never forgive myself if one of you got hurt trying to help me defeat her."

Rose's eyes softened in compassion. "Leliana, any of us would be glad to accompany you. We are your friends."

At this, Revan rolled her eye discreetly. Zevran had noticed a small feud boiling between her and the rogue since his arrival, but they kept it distinctly private. They knew the stakes if they let their hatred for each other grow, and so they dealt with each other cordially in public. But, Zevran could tell Revan would have a difficult time placing her life on the line to save Leliana's.

"Oh, for pity's sake, I'll go with the girl!" Morrigan declared, obviously having been reduced in standing by her forced wardrobe. Though, despite this, she still held an aura of wild, untamed beauty. "Someone needs to be there so she doesn't get killed."

Everyone was slightly shocked at her pronouncement, but not a word was uttered against it. Rose spent a moment curiously examining the witch before continuing. "All right; that leaves the three of us to go with Alistair. Meet back here in a few hours?"

The others nodded their agreement, and went their separate ways. Zevran also thought that it was a good idea to split up; having so many strange people together in one group might seem obvious, despite being in a city. And it was prudent to have all the Wardens in one group, in order to defend each other and to spare the identities of their other compatriots. Though, perhaps, if they got captured, it was not such a good idea…

Rose staked off toward the even less sanitary slums, where supposedly Alistair had unfinished business. It seemed a bit strange that he would have business here, especially considering his status as a Templar (or almost Templar) and a Grey Warden, though Grey Wardens could come from any walk of life. But a Templar on the other hand…that was a different story. Most Templars did not grow up in slums.

"So…what exactly are we doing here?" Zevran asked from the back of the group, feeling as if he was the only one that did not understand what was going on.

Alistair sheepishly glanced back. "We're here to find…my sister."

"Sister?" Revan asked in confusion, her alien accent apparent despite her impeccable knowledge of the language. Apparently he wasn't the only one that was unaware of the situation. "What sister?"

"My mother was a maid at Redcliffe. Before me, she had a daughter. And, last I heard, that daughter was now living here in Denerim. I always meant to find her, to see if she was even still alive, but…well, now that the world is coming to an end, I thought I should do at least this."

Even though her back was turned to him, Zevran could feel Revan's scowl deepen alarmingly. He lengthened his stride to walk beside her. "And your father is…Arl Eamon?" Zevran guessed.

"Maric," Alistair corrected.

"Ah." Zevran looked at Revan's face next to him. She looked torn, as if deciding whether to speak out or not. Her scars were scrunched to a bone white, as they often were when she was agitated.

Finally, she decided to say something. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, since she probably knows you're the bastard prince and all…"

Zevran could tell that Revan was concealing something, but she was trying to be tactful and surreptitious about it. He had to wonder what it was. Did she know something about his family? Was it concerning his sister? Or was it about his mother? But how would she know anything about all that, if she wasn't even from Thedas?

"But she is my sister," Alistair insisted. "I at least need to see if she's alive, and happy."

Revan wasn't satisfied with the answer, but she declined to say any more on the subject. Her brow, however, remained furrowed in a charming look of worry and concern. Zevran had the sudden impulse to laugh and rub out her creases in a teasing manner, at which point his mood turned dark from embarrassment. He turned away and focused instead on where they were heading, looking for all possible locations that assassins could hide, of which there were many. The slums were the perfect place for an ambush; Zevran hoped that their presence had not been detected or anticipated, or else they were, frankly, screwed.

Finally, they arrived at what Alistair guessed was the correct address. Alistair's face immediately contorted into a hysterical expression of nervous anxiety, one which Zevran found it difficult not to laugh at. Rose laid a comforting hand on his arm and, with a look of instruction to Revan, knocked on the door. A few moments later, screams and shouts could be heard from inside from the children and a woman, followed by the crack of the door. Alistair braced himself and entered, Rose beside him, and the door shut, leaving Revan and Zevran to guard it. Revan leaned back against the plastered wall, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes, absorbing the thin rays of sunlight that filtered down through the slits of the apartments and tenant buildings. The light lit up her white scars, making them sear across her tanned face in stern contrast. Her ebony hair was tinted red in the light, like blood, and loose strands of her lengthening hair blew about her lazily in the gentle autumn breeze, despite her having tried to tame it in a braid. Taken as a silhouette, she made quite an impression, as her languid manner was reminiscent of a panther lying in wait, basking in the sun, yet aware of all that occurred around her. Zevran had never met a woman quite like her.

For fear of seeming like he was staring, he also leaned back against the wall of the abode, took out a dagger, and began polishing it, all the while surreptitiously scanning their surroundings. Better to be useful in some way, he thought, and since assassination was his trade, his job should be preventing it. After all, that was the pretext Rose had used to save his life. Unfortunately, he hadn't had much of a chance to use those skills, as the Crows had not yet made another attempt on their lives. Considering his failure, however, Zevran was not surprised at their caution at issuing another mission; after all, he had anticipated that his mission was a suicide mission. In fact, he had banked on it. And here he was, alive. Slightly disappointing. But, Revan had helped him overcome it…mostly.

About a quarter of an hour later, the indistinct voices from inside grew to a crescendo, followed by a dramatic silence. The door opened moments later, admitting both Rose and Alistair. Rose, with an intense look of lover's anguish, was vainly trying to comfort a distraught Alistair with earnest looks and parted lips, her hands clutching his arm beseechingly, but Alistair was too absorbed in his distress to acknowledge her silent pleas. Revan immediately digested that something was wrong, and quickly managed to pull Rose away from Alistair, who failed to notice her absence, in order to determine what had just transpired inside the dirty hovel. As they spoke in earnest whispers, Zevran decided to confront the victim directly, not regarding delicacy.

"So…I take it things did not go well?" he smiled ironically at the Warden.

Alistair shot him a pained look with undisguised disgust. "No, not at all."

"Ah. Let me guess—she was mad at you for killing her mother by being born? Or did she want money?"

"Both!" the Templar sobbed, hanging his head, looking, too obviously, like a big baby. At this cry, both women turned and aimed malicious glares at him for upsetting the boy. And, in truth, he did feel guilty about worsening Alistair's mood: he'd hate for the Warden to break down into tears. It would be awkward, and not to mention embarrassing.

Sensing that Alistair was in need of some support, Revan left Rose, grabbed the younger Warden by the wrist, and commanded, "Alistair, let's talk." He let himself be pulled down an alley by her, offering no resistance. She dragged him a sufficient distance away, to where she thought they would have enough privacy, and began talking to him in that wise, authoritative tone that only those that had suffered all the world could throw at a person could adopt —that is, she spoke in the tone that only she could ever have. Unfortunately, he and Rose, who was also curious as to what was being said, were too far away to distinguish her words. So, he did what any rogue would do.

Motioning to Rose to keep silent, he jumped agilely up to the nearest roof, grabbing the thatch and hoisting himself up. Then, discreetly, he shimmied his way to the edge nearest the Jedi. Here, behind her and sufficiently hidden by the roof to avoid detection by Alistair, he could overhear their discussion. Dimly, he was aware that Rose had dared to join him, despite not being quite as acrobatic as he was. Apparently, he had again underestimated her.

He strained his ears to catch Revan's words to Alistair. "…understand that this must be incredibly difficult for you, to have come here only to find…this. It isn't fair, especially to you. After all you have been through…but such is life. People are horrible, contemptible, even. There are many—too many, really—that don't care about anyone but themselves. This Goldanna, she is one of them. Ah, do not defend her; Rose told me that all she wanted from you was money, that she was not even interested in having a brother. And that has nothing to do with you. You, in this, are faultless. In fact, your actions would be considered noble, though they were foolish.

"So, stop sulking about her; she is not worth your little finger. Take it from me, you need to stop thinking about everyone else, and start thinking about yourself. You need to start standing up for yourself and making sure you get what _you_ need. Especially since—" she broke off, hesitant, before continuing in a low voice that Zevran could just make out, "especially since you have Rose, and since so much rests upon you two. You have to think about what is best for your future—your future together. And to do that, you need to stop letting people walk all over you. I tell you this now, so nothing worse happens later. It is for your own good, please believe me."

Alistair sighed, letting her words sink in. It was obvious from his expression that he agreed with everything she had said, however distasteful it was. "Right." He examined Revan's face, perhaps for compassion, before he rolled back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and breathed deeply, as if preparing to make a royal debut. "Let's get back to the others, then. And…thank you, General."

Zevran saw Revan tip her head in acknowledgement and imagined her kindly smile at him in response. Alistair returned a small, sad one, and started to walk back to where he and Rose were supposed to be waiting, but Revan hung back for a moment. She turned to face the building they were perched upon and gave him and Rose, whom she had known were spying, a poignant glare, causing them to smile sheepishly back. He and Rose rushed to the other side of the roof and scrambled down just as Alistair was turning the corner. Rose lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort, and Alistair, in turn, lay a hand on hers in thanks. They exchanged comforting smiles as Revan rounded the corner.

Feeling slightly responsible for Alistair's state, and also wanting some time away from the rest of the party, Zevran suddenly developed a proposal. He cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention.

"Considering that things did not go over very well here, I propose to go somewhere…more enjoyable. Liven your spirits a bit," he said, directing his speech to Alistair. The human looked at him distrustfully. "There is a little place I know, very private, very nice, very strong alcohol…why don't we go there until we need to meet with the others?"

Revan turned her piercing eyes towards him, searching for a motive. They exchanged small glances, small facial twitches that they both shared, and the Jedi gave him an imperceptible nod of sanction. Then, much to his surprise, she smiled at his little idea. Meanwhile, Rose and Alistair were exchanging similar expressions as they silently debated what to do. Much was said in their eyes, noticeable to only those that were familiar with the two, or trained agents, or, as in his case, both. At last the couple came to a decision, and Alistair gestured to Zevran to lead the way.

So, smiling, Zevran led them through the winding back alleys of Denerim, all the way to the docks. He had never been to this area personally before, but he had heard of its reputation from several of his acquaintances. About in the middle of the port, a single storefront faced the water from between the dull walls of the warehouses. The out-of-place building was plastered and decoratively painted, and a wooden tavern sign swung in the wind above the red door, proclaiming the name of the institute as _The Pearl_.

A large porter stood near the entrance of _The Pearl,_ as well as a very burly bartender. However, emerging from the entryway, the main foyer was bright, with rose silk draperies and pink, red, and yellow glass lamps and lanterns. Some tables sat in the corner for sailors to nurse their drinks, and a counter stood between the entrance and the private rooms in the back. Standing next to this counter was a matronly woman, looking to be in her forties, the last vestiges of beauty tinging her features. She looked Zevran up and down and back up again, then announced that they had whatever suited his taste.

Zevran put on his most charming smile and, putting a hand on the matron's shoulder, turned her away from the others as he described his plan to her. She nodded as he explained what he wanted. When he was done, the matron quietly told him that what he wanted was within reason and within her ability. She clapped her hands together twice, summoning a male and female attendant, both beautiful and clothed in faux finery to give the appearance of aristocracy and lend the place an air of legitimacy. After a brief command from the matron, the female led the confused Rose away to a private room, and the male a startled and indignant Alistair to a different room. Revan, meanwhile, watched in amusement, and then offered to pay the expenses of whatever Zevran had ordered. Then, they sat down at the counter as the matron rushed about her own business.

"Now that we are alone…" Revan began, "what exactly did you plan?"

Zevran gave her a mischievous smile before explaining, "It is painfully obvious that they are in love, no? Well, the camp and the road are not exactly the places to start a budding romance. I wanted to give them a little…private time together. So they can relax and become more…intimate."

Revan raised her brows in minor shock, though he was sure she had already guessed his intentions when they had exchanged glances. "You mean I just paid ten sovereigns to buy them a private room to have coitus?"

He burst out in a raucous laugh at her blatancy. "Yes, I suppose so," Zevran sputtered after his fit of laughter. "But, better than hearing it at camp, right?"

Revan was about to respond to this when her words died on her lips at the cocky threats, insults, and boisterous commotion of some drunk sailors. Both of them turned around to see a group of large males surround a curvy, olive-skinned, dark-haired beauty that looked about half the mass of one of the men. She was contemplating them calmly, almost as if she enjoyed the situation. Then, the sailors got a little too close, and one tried to grab her. With lightning speed, she unsheathed two daggers and used them to chop off the sailor's hand, then rammed it into the base of his skull. The sailor collapsed to the ground, dead. Then, she gazed calmly at the other men and said serenely in her warm, husky voice, "Anyone else?" The few that remained looked at each other in fear. They grabbed their falling comrade, laid a few silvers on a table as payment for the ill-fated spirits, and dragged the body out of the establishment.

"Isabela!" Zevran rose from his seat, approaching the pirate/smuggler/captain/duelist with open arms, having recognized his old acquaintance at once. She looked up, wiped the slight precipitation from her forehead, and smiled. "Zevran Arainai, what a surprise to see you here," she greeted him before unexpectedly kissing him on the mouth. It was brief, but he had been completely unprepared for it, even though he had assassinated her former husband for her and subsequently spent a few nights with her…

"Ah, but who is this?" Isabela looked behind him. He twisted his head to find Revan standing like a wraith in her black leathers and shadowed features. Zevran could feel the blood rushing into his face, but he quickly repressed it.

"Isabela, may I introduce my friend, Revan, or, as you might know her, Dragonheart. Revan, this is Isabela, one of my oldest…should I say friends, or business acquaintances?"

"Oh, I think we moved far beyond just business a long time ago," Isabella joked. Looking at Revan, she continued, "But, it is a pleasure to meet a legend like you, Dragonheart. It seems like little Zev has moved up in social circles."

Revan gave her an amused smile at the jib. "Or that I've moved down." Isabela chuckled at the retort. "But, how do you know each other?"

Isabela and Zevran smiled awkwardly at that question before beginning to explain how they met, and all the crazy things that had happened when they exchanged services. While talking, they had taken seats at a table, Revan sitting across from Isabella and Zevran, her eyes darting between the two as she listened to their tale. Zevran found her emotionless gaze unnerving, especially since she must have assumed that they were, or at least had been, lovers. After their tale, Isabella inquired into how they had met, which Revan took up with easy grace. She, of course, underemphasized her role in everything, to which Zevran had to interject his own observations. More conversation followed, about being a duelist, about ships (which, it seemed to Zevran's surprise, Revan knew much about), and about every other topic that arose. It seemed to him that the two strong and very independent women had hit it off quite well, much to his relief. Having them at each other's throats would be a bloody spectacle.

At last, Revan excused herself to do some errands, leaving Zevran alone with the pirate. Isabela rose and moved to across the table. She wove her fingers together and rested her chin on top before fixing her amber eyes on his olive ones. She stared at him for a full, awkward minute before he could no longer handle the silence.

"What?" he interrogated.

"She's very beautiful," Isabela began gently. "In a subtle, wild way, but it is unmistakable when you talk to her."

Zevran blinked, trying to feign ignorance of her motives. "I suppose so," he answered.

Unfortunately, Isabela knew him well enough to know that he had understood her intent. "Then why did your eyes keep darting back to her when we were talking?"

"Because…" Zevran fidgeted as he attempted to come up with some excuse, but Isabela's earnest gaze would not let him off so easily. So, taking a deep breath and exhaling in a sigh, he began again. "Because—"

And out came Rose and Alistair, smiling like idiots, and saving Zevran from any further discussion about the mysterious Jedi.

For now.

* * *

 

_Revan_

"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer? I have many more interesting theories I've been meaning to test, but alas, for an old man such as myself, the task is almost impossible," the sallow Warden mage, Avernus, pleaded with Revan. "I could use an assistant like you."

She allowed herself the brief moment to ponder the offer, though she already knew her answer. She had always been fascinated with testing the limits of power to the extremes, but this was also what had led her down the path of the Dark Side, and it was also what caused so many atrocities to occur. Avernus' research seemed no different, since he was fond of the forbidden arts. In fact, upon entering the archaic fortress of Soldier's Peak with Levi Dryden, the merchant that had begged a promise from Duncan, they had found the castle infested with abominations and a rift in the Fade, caused by the blood mage generations ago. One of these abominations happened to be Levi's great-grandmother, Sophia Dryden, whose name he was trying to restore.

Of course, seeing no way of closing the rift, and ignorant of Avernus' existence, Rose had struck a tentative deal with the abomination, much to everyone's surprise. She did not look very happy with it, but Zevran, who had wanted to come with them to see the fallen keep, had applauded her, saying how the Crows had severely underestimated her. Revan could not help remarking as she struck this deal that it was a good thing they had sent Leliana, Wynne, and Sten to scout the small village of Haven which, according to Brother Genitivi's notes, housed the Urn of Sacred Ashes. They would have been furious with Rose's decision, however necessary it might have been. And, besides, Revan knew Rose well enough to know that she would never allow the demon to leave the keep.

So, the party went to fulfill their end of the bargain, when Revan had discovered some experiments, and finally the old mage Avernus, busy in his research. He had proposed a counter deal, one which everyone was more comfortable with; after all, Revan had convinced the others to save a bloodmage more than once. Then, as usual, they had charged back into the keep, slayed Sophia Dryden for the second time, and finally, with the help of Avernus, sealed the rift. Afterwards, they decided to stay a day to recuperate from their adventures, during which Revan had spent chatting with the mage about his grisly research. He had much to share, and much to teach, though Rose had made him swear to cease his use of blood magic. He was slightly disappointed in her "narrow-minded" decision, but he understood the consequences of his actions. However, Revan had a healthy appreciation for the usefulness of blood magic, even if she did not think it entirely safe. In a way, it was like using the Dark Side of the Force: dangerous, precarious, but rewarding if a balance is struck. Thus, the two of them had quickly become friends, exchanging ideas and possible theories. And then, he had offered her a chance to stay and help him.

"I would love to —really, I would," Revan began, "but I must complete my duty as a Grey Warden, and help defeat the Archdemon."

Avernus nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. It is a shame to waste a talent such as yours to fight and be killed by darkspawn; you could achieve so much, I see it."

Revan gave him a pleased smile before reassuring him, "Perhaps afterwards, I will come back. In the meantime…do not stop using bloodmagic. I agree that it might be dangerous, but we need all the assistance we can get, and if bloodmagic will help us defeat the Blight, then sacrifices must be made."

He smiled at her in return, a strange expression on the wrinkled face of the serious man. Not questioning if she even had the authority to contradict Rose's commands, he fell back into talking of the experiments he could do with an apprentice or assistant, and how it could help a Grey Warden unlock more abilities than what they had now. He dreamed of a powerful force of Wardens, keeping the peace, stopping Blights before they even began. They were remarkable dreams for such an old, jaded man, but it just proved that he was far from giving up on his research. Finally, he paused, as if a remarkable thought had just entered his mind.

"You said that when you arrived here, everyone in your party saw…visions? Of the last siege?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Did you just see it, or did it seem that you were actually there?"

Revan paused to think. "I…it felt like I was there."

Avernus stroked his chin. "And do you still see visions even now, after the rift was closed?"

A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the last vision she had received earlier that day in the kitchens. She nodded gravely.

"Hmmm…how interesting," Avernus pondered. "Is it possible you…no, that's just a theory. Impossible. I should know better."

"What?" Revan asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Well, in my years of solitude, I had ample time to observe the rift and the demons that poured out of it," he began. "Well, on one subject of mine, I tried to see if I could reverse the process a demon uses; that is, I wanted to see if I could send the essence of a person into the Fade to take possession of a spirit. I wanted to have a person possess a spirit. Unfortunately, the subject was weak and had no magical ability, so the only time he could enter the Fade naturally was while he dreamt, and even then, the spirits of the Fade weren't that interested in him. So, only his consciousness entered the Fade, not his essence, his body, and consequently he found himself trapped there. Later, I redid my calculations and took more observations, only to discover that, indeed, a person with magic would be more suitable. But, they had to have more than magic; they had to have an incredibly strong attraction to the Fade, and the Fade to the person. That way, the mage would have a better chance at attracting the attention of a spirit in order to make a deal with it, and thus possess it. You, I believe, would make the perfect candidate."

Revan sat in stunned silence for a moment as she digested this information. She had always known that she was close to the Force, and if Daylen had been right in suggesting that the Force and the Fade were one, she would also be close to the Fade. The idea scared her; she already had to deal with the Archdemon, so she did not know if she could deal with a horde of demons after her if she ever entered the Fade again.

The conversation continued well past sunset, until Avernus shooed the Jedi away, telling her it was high time he began on his research and reminding her that she had her own duties to attend to: polishing and sharpening her swords, readjusting her lightsaber, cleaning her leathers, helping make dinner, and beginning the monumental task of cleaning up Soldier's Peak and shuffling through what remained of documents, books, and stores. To this end, she found herself in the company of Morrigan, who seemed to be trying to focus on something menial to distract from the horrible thoughts in her head. Revan knew it could be only one thing.

"You look perturbed," Revan remarked as she sorted through the paperwork in Sophia Dryden's desk.

Morrigan looked up at the sudden break in the silence, then pursed her lips as she contemplated the comment. "Yes, I suppose you could say so. But then again, you read Flemeth's grimoire… Who wouldn't be a bit perturbed?"

Revan's lips parted as she understood that Morrigan had finished reading the book she had found in the Circle. Then, she pursed them in concern as Morrigan took a deep breath in order to continue.

"I still don't know if you were right to read it before me," Morrigan looked down, "but I am glad you know what it says. I can't believe… Well, you know what needs to be done now, yes?"

"No," Revan sternly shook her head as she followed the girl's train of thought.

"But it must be done!"

The Jedi shook her head with pursed lips and said, "Flemeth cannot be killed, not normally. She would kill you first, or take possession of your body."

"I know," Morrigan pierced her with her yellow eyes. "That is why I wanted to ask you to kill her. I know I ask much, but you seem to be her equal in terms of strength and power."

Revan looked at the girl, and, seeing that Morrigan believed the only way to free herself of her mother was to kill her, sighed in grudging agreement. Morrigan gave her a thankful nod, and they continued working. Most of the papers were soaked through with water and blood, or rotted through. Some of the books, however, were intact, even though they were the thick academic tomes. There were a few interesting reports about troop movements, but all of it was outdated several centuries. The office took only a few hours, at which point they moved on to other parts of the keep. All the while, Revan hoped that they would discover a cache of Archdemon blood, but alas, there was no such luck. They did find some useful items, but nothing that would terribly tip the scales in their advantage. Overall, it would be a good place to train future Wardens, if and when the current Blight was over.

The next day, the group bid Levi farewell, after Revan had had a chat with him about the possibility of returning the keep to being a Warden stronghold, to which he was amenable. Rose, Alistair, Fuzzywuggins, and Morrigan were to head for the dwarven stronghold of Orzammar, while Revan and Zevran went to rejoin the rest of the group at Haven, in order to retrieve the Urn of Sacred Ashes. They would all meet again in Orzammar, where, hopefully, they would be ready to return to Redcliffe to cure the Arl. Then, afterward, they would assemble the Landsmeet in order to put, according to Revan's plans, Alistair on the throne. And, when the Archdemon made his move, they would be ready with four forces of militia, dwarves, elves, and mages. Of course, they would not be able to defeat all of the host, but the Wardens just needed enough time to get to the Archdemon and slay it. But now, the task in front of Revan was retrieving the Urn. She idealistically hoped that Leliana, Wynne, and Sten had been able to acquire it already.

Heading south from the keep, she and Zevran travelled at a steady, quick pace, wasting no extra time. However, they talked continuously on the journey there. The more they talked, the more she found she had in common with the elf assassin. They had the same type of twisted humor, the same past pains, the same life philosophy, and the same ambition: to finally find a bit of peace and happiness. And, to her surprise, he had stopped flirting with her. Zevran actually seemed afraid to engage her like that, though he had not stopped playfully flirting with Rose while they were in camp. In fact, when Revan thought about it, she realized that he flirted with everyone, including, on a dare with Alistair, Sten. She had been sitting near the Qunari at the time, readjusting the crystal in her lightsaber, when he had sauntered over, Alistair watching close by. Sten had called him out early in the conversation, too. However, the last time he had tried flirting with her was before their time in Castle Redcliffe.

When they had gotten to the crossroads—turn to head towards Haven, or continue to fulfil Morrigan's request—Revan explained to Zevran the dilemma. He chortled, then gestured straight ahead for her to lead the way, explaining as he did that he wanted to meet the legendary Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, even if she killed them. So, she led them into the Wilds. Still, it gave her an eerie feeling of recognition the closer they came to the witch. Revan acted on her instincts, not paying any regard to markers or terrain. Despite this, within the day they came across the hut. Flemeth stood outside.

"Hello again, Dragonheart," the old woman greeted her, as a colleague would greet another.

"Flemeth," Revan halted several meters away, Zevran right behind her. He, smartly, kept his mouth shut. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

"I suppose Morrigan sent you to destroy me? Has she figured out my little secret?" her yellow eyes flashed.

"Yes."

"Ah. So, what are you going to do about it, hmm? Are you going to kill me, as she wanted you to? Or, are you going to be smart, and just tell her you slew me? I'll even give you my real grimoire, to make it more convincing."

Revan's eyes narrowed, suspecting a trap. "Why should I spare you?"

Flemeth laughed. "Do you really think you could kill me? Your efforts would be wasted."

Revan could not argue with this. It was apparent that she was no longer human, and most likely not mortal. Having known about Revan's arrival beforehand, she probably would have made arrangements in order to preserve herself. Thus, there was no point in risking her own life, and Zevran's, to kill only a part of her.

"As much as I do not like it, I cannot argue with you," Revan said bitterly.

"Ah, very wise, and very prudent." Flemeth reached in her robes and produced another tome, thicker than the other grimoire, and held it out for Revan. As the Jedi bridged the gap and grabbed the book, Flemeth pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "I am leaving here and never returning. If you come back here again, you will find nothing, not even that Force crystal you so coveted. So, I will tell you something now, in case events prevent me from visiting you in the future: you have a destiny here. You will undo something I did a long time ago and change the face of this world. There will be a time when you will be confronted with the choice of whether to do this, or to let the world take a darker, more tragic path; you _must_ take the harder path, or it will not be just this world that will be changed. You must open the Black Gates by the Four Pillars, and you must slay the Eight twice in order to birth the One. And…" Here, Flemeth hesitated, unsure if she should say more. Revan gazed at her in confusion. "And you must take the Vessel with you."

Flemeth locked eyes with the Jedi, making sure Revan memorized her cryptic words. At length, after trying to discern more from her face, Revan gave the older woman a small nod. She then released her iron grip on Revan's hand, and she watched as the Warden walked away. But, a few paces away, Revan turned back, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You do not have the soul of an Archdemon, do you?" she asked unexpectedly. Flemeth gave a slight start at the question. "If you did, you would not need to trade bodies; your original would last centuries, if not more, and your powers would sustain it past that."

Suddenly, Flemeth's entire face changed. Her eyes glowed with an inhuman light, and she barred her teeth in a wicked grin. "Ha ha ha, you're very observant! No, I didn't make a deal with an Archdemon, as you foolishly did. I made a deal with something far more powerful, something you couldn't understand."

"Then why did you lie to me?"

The witch laughed. "Why, to get you to trust me, of course!"

Revan felt used. In that second, if Zevran had given her one sign, one inkling, she would have fought the old hag and destroyed the part of her that was in front of them. But, Zevran remained rooted to the spot, both intrigued and terrified by the confrontation, and Revan had no excuse to attack her now. She spun on her heel and haughtily strode back down the path they had come from, crystal forgotten, Zevran following a step behind her, the real grimoire clutched by her muscular hand by her side. The thought dimly occurred to her that her eyes were probably yellow, just like Flemeth's; after all, even if they had not struck the same deal, they were still the same sort of evil. As soon as they were out of sight of the hut, Zevran jumped to her side and forced her to calm down, even jumping in front of her to prevent her from merely marching off in a direction and into a sinkhole. He did not ask her what Flemeth had said, or even what was in the book, just told her to sit down on a nearby log and breathe for a minute until her anger passed.

They left the Wilds, and as they emerged back on the road, Revan swore that she would never return there again. There was nothing there for her, and nothing worth fixing. Not even the strange mists intrigued her any longer. And, despite the time she had spent expelling her anger with Zevran's help, it was another day, a silent day, before her anger completely abated. She despised having been used by Flemeth, and she loathed being lied to even more. Zevran did not try to break her concentration and her thoughts all that day, figuring instead that she would speak when she wanted to.

And for that, she could never repay him.

* * *

 

_Zevran_

It had been over a day since the Flemeth incident, as he called it. After Revan and Flemeth had confronted each other (which was one of the most terrifying moments in his short life), Revan had retreated within herself in order to sort through her emotions—most notably, her anger. To see Revan angry was like watching a tempest approaching while on a ship at high seas: awesome and deadly. To ask her to get over it would be to sail into the center of that thunderstorm. So, after initially getting her to calm down, he let her fume as long as she needed.

In the meantime, however, he was happy. Travelling with Revan was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. She was so similar to him, and yet so different, as he had known since they first met. But, having talked with her continuously, he found that everything he had first thought he knew about her was only the surface. She was compassionate yet practical, serious yet sarcastic. He had never felt closer to anyone before, but, though this was the source of his present contentment, it scared him. As an assassin, he was trained to never have relationships, because that person could be your next target, or die on the next mission; in short, it was too dangerous to get close to anyone. So, to get close to Revan, as he could not help but do, was frightening.

That fright was what he was experiencing when, that night, he came back to the camp to see Revan atop a nearby hill, laying in the grass, staring up at the firmament. Starlight lit up the surface of her face and the tips of the grass as it gently waved in the light autumn breeze. At his silent approach, Revan eerily tilted her head in his direction, knowing that he was there, and beckoned him lazily with her hand. He immediately climbed up to her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down to lay in the grass, and together they stared up at the incredible sky in silence.

Finally, Revan broke her reverie. "I am sorry for my mood."

"Hey, it's fine; there's nothing to be sorry for," Zevran looked across at her.

"No, that was not fair to you. I should not have taken my anger out on you; I should have dismissed it immediately."

"But anger is a natural emotion. We all feel it, and we all have to deal with it in our own time."

He saw Revan shake her head. "A Jedi should never feel anger; we are taught early on that anger leads to the Dark Side. I am not following my lessons as I should, and I fear what I might do if I forget them."

"That doesn't sound like a fun profession. 'Here, we're going to teach you how to not be a human being, and instead be a serene statue'," Zevran mocked, eliciting a snort from Revan.

"Something like that," she agreed, and then she sighed. "It seems like so long ago now, that I was a Jedi."

They lay in silence for a few more minutes. Zevran had only seen the skies this clear in the desert, miles away from life of any kind, deep within Antiva. The stars shone like diamonds on velvet, complemented by the silk belt of the firmament. The black trees towering above them framed the picture like a painting. The vast vaulted ceiling above them was more majestic than any cathedral or palace Zevran had ever seen; he wondered if Revan had ever seen anything to rival it.

Suddenly, Revan raised a marble arm and pointed upwards. "There, that star—that is the star of the planet I was raised on."

Instead of looking in the direction of her finger, Zevran turned his attention on her face, to see if she was joking. "What?"

"It was a small thing, a fraction of the size of this planet, but it was far enough away from the Core Worlds that slavery was still legitimate. It had good soil, too—or so I was told. I do not remember much. It was very close to the star. I think it was a moon…but I left it early, and I never went back."

Zevran blinked, trying to comprehend what she was saying. "You mean…you weren't born…here?"

"On this planet? No."

"But you said…once, you told me you came from across the ocean!"

Revan paused for a moment and pursed her lips, as she often did if she thought back on something. "Yes, I did. Sorry I lied; I just thought you would not believe me if I told you the truth."

Zevran guffawed, "If I didn't know you better, I wouldn't! But…I suppose it makes sense."

"You 'suppose it makes sense'? What does that mean?"

He shrugged, ruffling the grass. "You're just so…different than anyone here. And not just different as in foreign: you see past borders and languages and customs and race, unlike everyone else. I mean, not even Rose accepted Sten like you did. And I doubt that anyone that had…experienced just one world would be able to do that."

The grass rustled as Revan tilted her head to look at him, her dark eyes sparkling just like the stars above. She looked at him, and he felt a painful ache deep within his chest. For him, the brief seconds she spent regarding him was a small eternity. And, still looking at him, she uttered, "You did."

Then she looked away.

And then she pointed at another star and proclaimed, "There! That is the Telos star system, where Carth is from. I wonder if he is there now. Do you see it?"

Needless to say, Zevran didn't respond. Instead, he turned wordlessly away, staring abjectly into the shadows.


	15. Act XV

Act XV: Frostback Mountain Foothills

The path up to Haven was grueling and lonesome, the approaching mountains stark and foreboding.  They met few people as they trekked up the craggy foothills of the Frostback Mountains, and Zevran was unusually terse, refusing to speak much since the night they had spent stargazing.  She had no idea what was bothering him, but she knew better than to press the issue.  So, they continued forward in silence, with only the increasingly bitter wind for company.  She was relieved, therefore, when they encountered a fidgety merchant with a broken cart who looked just as uncomfortable as she felt.  She needed some conversation.

“Greetings,” she called as they got close.  She noticed Zevran eyeing up the merchant with his experienced eye, but he offered no comments and refused to make eye contact with her.

“Greetings,” the merchant chittered.  He seemed to be a fairly successful merchant, given that his clothes were of good make and his cart stocked with wares.  “Er…you’ll have to forgive me if I seem a bit nervous.  Not many people traveling in this part of Ferelden.  Of course, that’s part of my problem, isn’t it?  Mule got spooked by a wisp and ran off into the woods.  Now what do I do?”

Revan was almost relieved at the potential for a distraction.  “Are you asking us to find your mule?”

“Oh!  No, no, I sent the elf to do that.  I wouldn’t dream of asking a stranger to do it…” the merchant shook his head.  Revan’s face fell.  She had been hoping for something to maybe get Zevran’s mind off of…whatever it was that troubled him.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the merchant continued, straightening up a bit.  “Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur, at your service.”

“I am Revan.  Pleased to meet you,” she responded politely, figuring that there was no need to state that she was Dragonheart.

“I normally don’t take this route, but with the war I was hoping for a bit of luck and good weather in the mountains,” Felix chattered, talking more out of nervousness than to make conversation.  “Sadly, I’ve had neither.  This trip has been one miserable disaster after another.  I don’t suppose you’d…consider helping a fellow out?”

“Help a fellow out…how?”

The man ran a hand through his thinning hair, sighing.  “Of all the things that went wrong, the worst is this artifact I bought in Jader.  It’s a ‘control rod’, I’m told.  For a golem.  No point in me keeping it, however, as I’ll never get to use it…but maybe you could?”

Revan arched an eyebrow.  A control rod for a golem.  She had seen the ancient golems in the Deep Roads those many years ago, and even defunct and inactive they were impressive to see.  If she had one under her control, it would be a huge advantage to them in the Blight.  Skeptical by nature, she asked, “How do I know this control rod will work?”

“The fellow I bought it from is a longstanding contact,” the merchant explained.  “He didn’t want to come to Ferelden, however, with all our…troubles.  He said he got it from the man who owned this golem.  But to be honest, I have no idea if it will work.  Hence the low, low price.  He he.  What do you say?”

“What’s the catch?”

“The catch?” he responded nervously, again running a hand through his hair.  “Yes, I…suppose it is a catch, isn’t it?  The catch is that the golem didn’t come with the rod.  It’s supposed to be down in a village down south, waiting to be activated.  Even if I could get down there, which I can’t, I understand the place has been overrun with darkspawn.  That’s not such an issue for adventurous types like yourself, surely.  Or I’m hoping so, at least.”

Revan pursed her lips, considering.  The village apparently was in the opposite direction they needed to go.  But, a golem would be advantageous.  Surely Sten, Wynne, and Leliana could get along without them for a few days more.

“So, how much do you want for it?”

“Nothing,” the merchant waved his hands definitively.  “I just don’t want to have to lug around something that might be taken for a gemstone by some bandit.  To be honest, I don’t even know if it’ll be useful to you.  I paid too much to simply throw it away.”

It seemed suspicious, but Revan responded, “Yes, I think I could use it.”

“Just as well.”  Felix went back to his cart and pulled out a metal object.  It was very obviously dwarven make, with intricate designs down its shaft and a crystal at its tip.  He handed it to her.

“As I mentioned before, you’ll find the golem down south, in a town called Honnleath.  I’ll mark it here on your map.  Just hold up the rod and say, ‘ _dulef gar’_.  That will wake the golem up, so I’m told.  I hope it works.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Revan twisted the rod in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship.

Felix shrugged.  “Maybe you could look up the fellow who owned the golem before?  If he’s still about, that is.  Best of luck to you, then!  Now, I guess it’s up to me to find that mule myself…”

And with that, he walked off, muttering to himself about useless elves, leaving the two of them there with the control rod.  To be honest, Revan was impressed with the dwarves.  Droids were intricate machines, and their technology was far beyond what she would have expected the dwarves to have mastered.  Perhaps they had used some magic to assist them.  Nevertheless, he experiences with HK-47 and T3-M4 were positive ones, and she knew the benefits of having something nonorganic at her side.  Recalculating their route, she turned back the way they had come and began heading south, toward Honnleath.  Strangely, Zevran still remained quiet, neither commenting on their new course of action nor on her recent “purchase”.  This was going to be a very long journey.

* * *

 

Honnleath had once been a quiet village, peacefully nestled in the southern foothills and far removed from any major form of civilization.  But, upon approach, the back of Revan’s neck prickled and her senses screamed at her that there was something very wrong with the quaint town.  _Darkspawn_.  They had been warned, but the devastation was complete.  She had not realized how bad things had gotten down south.  The village seemed to drip with corruption, and she anticipated that all the villagers had either fled or were dead.  Even the sulking Zevran seemed to take note, and the imminent danger made him more present than she had seen him in days.

They saw their first darkspawn – a sentry, Revan guessed – as they approached the village entrance.  The genlock growled at their approach as it crouched on a nearby roof and issued a shrill screech of warning to its compatriots.  Revan aimed a magic bolt at the offending darkspawn, careful not to set the thatch on fire.  The darkspawn fell backwards and toppled off the roof, but not before the patrol it had alerted barreled around the corner.  She drew her lightsabers, sure that there would be no survivors to tell of them, and ignited them.  The familiar heat tickled her hands.  Beside her, she sensed Zevran also drawing his blades, adopting a fighting stance.  She glanced at him and exchanged a quick look: he knew what to do.

Subtly drawing the Force, Revan made herself the primary target, imbuing herself with a threatening aura that drew the darkspawns’ attentions.  Those that led the charge chose her, while those with crude bows took aim at her.  Arrows were child’s play to a Jedi armed with a pair of lightsabers, especially compared to the blaster bolts she had trained with.  They were so slow that they never even got near their mark, even as she danced around the grunts that rushed her with their swords and axes and clubs.  Zevran was in perfect sync with her: as she drew their attention, he sneaked around the group unnoticed and slew the archers from behind.  Meanwhile, her blades whipped and twirled faster than any sword, slicing cleanly through the corrupted flesh of the darkspawn, sometimes even before they could raise their own weapons against her.  Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over, the ground now littered with corpses.  Revan deactivated her blades and tucked an unruly piece of hair behind her ear.  She had not even broken a sweat.  From the looks of it, neither had Zevran, who actually looked slightly disappointed at the abrupt end to the fight.  She gave him a quick smile, but he instead stared at the bodies she had slayed and muttered to himself, “ _I need to get one of those swords._ ”

She laughed.  “Perhaps I can show you how to wield one when we make camp.”

He looked at her, slightly embarrassed about his comment being heard.  _Or was it because of something else?_   “Wait…really?”

Revan shrugged, “Anyone with skill can use them, but a Jedi just can move faster and anticipate more.  The main differences between a lightsaber and a sword are the weight and the fact that a lightsaber will cut through almost anything.”

The elf looked intrigued but pressed no further.  She had been so close to drawing him out from his isolation…  But alas, they had work to do.  She took the lead, following the path into the village proper.  The houses were spaced close together, but allowed a large area around the central path, perhaps for fairs or social gatherings.  Everything was covered with the Blight.  Part of Revan wanted to just burn the village down, but the other part told her that one day, the villagers might want to return.  She suppressed her carnal urge just in time to greet a new party of darkspawn as they emerged from the houses.  Again, she and Zevran repeated their routine as she drew their attention and he cut them down, and together they made short work of the darkspawn.  Then, they continued up a small hill to the other end of the village.

The golem stood at the crest of the hill in the center of the town, arms raised to the heavens as if welcoming the light’s embrace.  Or perhaps as if about to bring the might of its arms down on an unsuspecting villager.  Nevertheless, it was an impressive sight.  Contrary to the golems she had seen in the Deep Roads, this one seemed to have crystals imbedded in its shoulders and forearms.  It also seemed a touch shorter.  But, before she could get a closer look, more darkspawn emerged from the nearby buildings.  She sighed; examination would have to wait.  Igniting her blades, she began attacking, repeating the pattern of the other attacks, until one of the hurlocks issued a challenging shout at her.  She smiled at the challenge.  Dodging under the swing of a hurlock grunt, she ran to the alpha and slid under the slice of his battleaxe.  Behind him, she plunged a lightsaber into his back, but this only served to enrage him.  He spun to attack her, but she was more nimble than he and managed to roll out of the way.  She cut at his legs, slicing cleanly through them.  As he fell in shock, she took off his head.  She turned to take on the rest of the group, but Zevran had beaten her to it.  He gave her a toothy grin as he wiped his blades clean, but quickly caught himself and turned away.  She scowled and wiped the drip of sweat off her brow, but she knew there was nothing then that she could do that would not aggravate the situation.  He was much like her in that regard.  He would talk to her in his own time.  She hoped.

She sent out her senses, trying to detect more darkspawn, but their presence had now recessed some; they were still present, but they were in no imminent danger.  She approached the golem.  It had been fenced off, but only as a friendly warning to be careful.  Evidence abounded that this was a popular area to congregate, most notably the empty basket that contained the remnants of bird seed.  The golem, meanwhile, required closer examination.  It was speckled with bird droppings, and its magical energies were low, as if it were on standby mode.  It showed no signs of being aware of her presence.  The crystals, meanwhile, were a curiosity.  They were similar to kyber crystals, but like the one Flemeth possessed were laced with lyrium.  These, though, were not as fine in quality, and some were even cracked.  She guessed that they were used to direct energies, but she would need to test that theory when the golem was activated.

Revan retrieved the control rod and, hold it aloft, commanded, “ _Dulef gar_.”

They waited a moment, but nothing seemed to happen.

“Perhaps it is dead?” Zevran ventured.

“Unlikely,” Revan pursed her lips, examining the golem closer.  No, it was most certainly not dead.  “More likely we were given the wrong code.”

“So…what now?”

Revan looked around, having just wondered the same question.  “Now…we see if perhaps the villagers left behind any clues as to what it might have been.”

There was not much to the village.  There was what appeared to be a town shop with a carved sign swinging above its broken door.  One home had a myriad of tiny, rotting pumpkins strewn about the porch.  To the right of the statue was a tower, decorated with old statues and the door to the basement hanging just slightly askew, as if it had been slammed shut.  Revan guessed that this was their best bet at answers, so she beckoned Zevran and pushed the door open.  The door opened to a set of stairs leading downward to what appeared to be a cellar.

Zevran touched something on the wall that she had missed and smelled it.  “Blood,” he informed her.  “Not exactly a good sign.”

She shrugged; someone had come down here when the village had been overrun.  Perhaps they would find the person.  Perhaps that person was alive.  For now, she summoned a small ball of fire to light their way and descended into the dank cellar.

It smelled musty and old.  That was the overwhelming feeling she got from the cellar.  It was also far more vast than a simple villager would have cared to excavate.  The first room was as expected, a storage area with a cart and crates of roots and other preserved goods.  There were bolts of cloth and barrels of alcohol and some books lying scattered on a table.  She resisted the urge to stack them neatly and read them.  They continued on, coming to the next room: a library.  Revan had only a moment to be surprised before being descended upon by a group of darkspawn that was investigating the cellar as well.  Conscientious of the books, she drew her swords instead of her lightsabers and, trying to give Zevran space in the cramped quarters, rushed into the middle of the darkspawn party.  The swords felt surprisingly heavy compared to the lightsabers, but she managed to get enough momentum as she swung that they were almost as fast.  As she slashed at their fronts, Zevran stabbed at their backs, and soon a ring of bodies lay on the floor in a pool of dark blood.

The room was indeed a library, though it appeared to not have been used much in the last few years from the thin film of dust on most of the books.  A large pile sat in the middle, as if the darkspawn had ransacked the books looking for something.  She ran a finger down a spine of a tome in one of the shelves.  _Archons of the Imperium: Volume 1._   So the owner of this tower was most likely a scholar, if not a mage.  It would certainly explain the golem and its strange augmentation.

Down the next flight of stairs was a distillery, heavily perfumed with the smell of fermenting yeast and a bloody body impaled with a spear near the stairs.  Zevran took a deep breath and remarked that it reminded him of home.  She retorted that any pungent scent seemed to remind him of home, to which he merely shrugged.  The next flight led to a winery, complete with large metal casks of wine and mead waiting to be tapped and more bloody bodies strewn about in the straw on the floor.  She tried to ignore the stench of rotting flesh.  But, her sense of the darkspawn became heightened again, and as they rounded the corner they encountered an interesting sight.

Darkspawn were gathered, seemingly infuriated, around a magical barrier that flashed every time they uselessly beat against it.  Behind the barrier were a group of human survivors, all cowering in fear except for one who seemed to be keeping the barrier up.  The rest of the room looked to be a mage’s workshop of sorts, with an overlooking balcony.  The darkspawn noticed her presence when she noticed them, and they began charging the narrow stairs.  Revan responded by blasting them with a wave of fire, sending them screaming backwards.  She and Zevran quickly began making short work of them, as Revan again garnered their attention and Zevran dispatched the archers on the balcony.  Once the darkspawn had been cleared, they approached the barrier, sheathing their swords as a gesture of good faith.  The villagers seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

One villager exclaimed, “By the Maker!  We’re saved!”

The one that held the barrier up was more skeptical of their good fortune.  He examined her carefully, noticing her strange leathers and unusual swords strapped to her back.  “You…weren’t sent by the bann, were you?  To save us?”

“No,” Revan answered honestly.  “I am a Grey Warden.”

“A Grey Warden?  Here?  Thank the Maker for our good luck!” he relaxed.  “But if you weren’t sent by someone, why are you here?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

She hesitated.  “A merchant told me about this place, actually.”

“A merchant?  Why would a merchant – oh, I think I see,” the man’s face soured.  “This is about Shale, isn’t it?  I should have known.  That damnable golem brought us nothing by trouble.  My mother sold the rod years ago, after it killed my father, and good riddance.”

With a wave of his hands and a small muttering, the barrier changed color, and he gestured for the villagers to escape.  Eagerly, they ran for the surface, leaving Revan, Zevran, and the man.  Revan pushed through the barrier, the magic tingling her skin as she passed.  Zevran followed more apprehensively, but was still close on her heels.

Once inside the barrier, Revan pressed, “So you’re saying the golem is defective…?”

“How should I know?  It must be,” the man shook his head.  “My father was its master and it still killed him.  Surely that’s not normal behavior.

“My father’s name was Wilhelm, mage to the arls of Redcliffe and a hero in the war against Orlais.  And what did he get?  One day my mother found him outside the tower, with so many broken bones she could barely recognize him, and Shale standing over him just like it is now.  My father deserved better than that.  But if you really want to wake Shale up…well, it’s yours now.”

 _Wilhelm_ …she recalled such a mage from Duncan’s memories.  From what she remembered, he was not exactly a kind man.  She also vaguely recalled having seen the golem.

She brought herself back to the matter at hand.  “Except the rod doesn’t work.  Nothing happens.”

Wilhelm’s son stopped at thought.  “My mother might have passed along the wrong command phrase when she sold the rod.  She said she never wanted to see Shale active again.  Look, I’ll tell you the command phrase…but I need your help first!”  She and Zevran exchanged knowing looks as his voice grew desperate.  “I know you already saved my life, and I’m grateful, but my daughter is inside the laboratory!  She was afraid, and ran too far in before I could stop her.  I don’t know how she made it past my father’s defenses.  One of the men tried to go after her.  He was killed.  But…you could find her, couldn’t you?”

“Well, what killed this man who went after her?” Revan folded her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“There are defenses my father put down here to keep strangers out,” the man answered honestly.  “I knew about the barrier, I had the key for that, but the rest of it?  We never came down here.  Ever.”

“Then how do you even know she’s still alive?”

“I…don’t, it’s true.”  The man hung his head pitifully.  “I’m terrified that something’s happened to her, and she’s lying in there injured!  I can’t leave here until I know for certain.  Surely you understand that?”

Revan softened.  She certainly did.  “I’ll…see if I can find her.  No promises, though.”

“You will?  Thank the Maker!”  Hope returned to the man’s eyes, a dangerous emotion.  “My father’s laboratory is just past the next area, I think.  She has to be there!”

She put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, then set her eye on the door to the next area.  Her Warden blood let her know that the darkspawn were gone, but there was something foreboding about the door down to the laboratory.  She pulled out her lightsabers in preparation.  The door opened to a curved downward ramp.  As soon as Zevran closed the door behind them, she ignited her blades for light.  The entire tunnel was covered in cobwebs from years of disuse, except where it seems the man sent down here had bludgeoned through them.  She held out her lightsabers to burn them away.  At the end of the decline was a room that looked partly collapsed, with dirt covering the floor and a variety of plants growing in the darkness.  Revan moved past the miniature ecosystem and on to the next room.  A body, presumably the man that had been sent down, lay in the middle of what appeared to be the mage’s study.  But something was wrong.  She gestured to Zevran to be alert, and slowly moved toward the body.  Only a few steps into the room, and hidden runes summoned shades to the room.  Revan cursed in Qunlat; it was always demons.

Zevran seemed to share her sentiments.  “You go left, I’ll go right,” he informed her, striking out for the nearest shade.

She did not argue with him, instead lunging forward toward the shade.  Shades were trickier than darkspawn.  She avoided its raking claws and with a backwards swing managed to slice through its head, dissolving it in a spray of dark fog.  She ducked under the swing of one that had gotten behind her and parried the blow of one in front.  Making sure to keep moving, she switched to the Juyo form of fighting that she had helped develop as a Jedi, becoming an unpredictable blur of motion as she made split second decisions about strikes and defenses.  Her side was quickly cleared, even as she avoided the magical attacks of her opponents.  She then moved to the ash wraith that had been summoned, drawing it away from Zevran as he deftly swept through his remaining shades.  The ash wraith tried to blind her with a whirlwind of sand and dust, but it did not realize that she was half blind as it was.  She saw its moves regardless, and managed to avoid its clumsy attack as she ignored the small stings of the sand grains.  She sliced upwards with her blades, cleaving the ash wraith in three as it fell to her.  Then, the room cleared; they had defeated at least one of the traps.  She wondered how many were left.

The door at the back of the study opened into a cavern leading down to the laboratory.  Again, more shades rose to challenge them, but they were quickly dispatched by the assassin’s daggers and her lightsabers.  She opened the door to the laboratory and was greeted by another unusual scene.  There was a magical barrier where the door was.  Further, there was the child, a girl of perhaps seven years, playing serenely with a cat like nothing had happened.  But her second sight quickly revealed that the cat was not what it appeared to be.  Revan gathered herself and stepped through the barrier.

“Oh, look!  Someone’s come to play!” the child exclaimed excitedly, momentarily distracted from the cat.

“I am here to take you back to your father,” Revan calmly approached the two, “not to play.”

“Well, you should go if you’re not going to play.  Kitty finds you distracting.”

“We have to go, child.  Your father is waiting,” Revan insisted, eager to get her away from the demon.

“I can’t go!  Kitty says she can’t come and I’m not leaving her.  She’d be lonely.”  The child pouted, gently stroking the cat.

The cat’s eyes glowed with a magical light.  “I would not suggest leaving in such hostile company anyhow, Amalia.  Look how they act.”

Zevran looked uncomfortable.  “That’s not really a cat, is it?”

“Of course she’s a cat!” Amalia said defensively.  “She just talks, that’s all.”

The cat groomed itself.  “Talking is simple enough, once you know how.”

“So what are you really?” he asked.

“I am a cat.  Really,” it said definitively.  “Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you.  She loves only me now.  I am her friend, while you are just a stranger.”

“You know we can’t leave without the girl,” Revan interjected.

“Then it seems we are at an impasse, so let me propose a…compromise of sorts.  Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl.  Let us return to her father and leave this place forever.”

Revan considered.  If she refused, the demon would try to kill Amalia.  She would have to play along…for now.  “You mean possess her?”

“That’s _such_ a crude way of putting it,” the cat purred.  “I do not wish to harm Amalia.  I merely want to see your world through her eyes.  Is that so wrong?”

“I would consider it so,” Revan admitted.

“But Kitty wants it!” the child protested.  She was obviously heavily under the demon’s control.  She would have to tread carefully.

“Then you reject my proposal?” the cat asked with a veiled threat.

Revan sighed.  “No, I’ll free you,” she relented, formulating a plan in her head.  Zevran did not look particularly pleased, but with a glance he understood she was lying.  His face returned to an expression of careful impassivity.

“Thank you.  You are very gracious,” the demon stretched.  “The mage’s wards hold me within this chamber, and only a mortal may approach them.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!  Kitty is going to be freed!” Amalia clapped her hands gleefully.

Revan made a small gesture to the assassin for him to trust her, then began examining the room.  There was an intricate puzzle in the middle of the room, one that upon examination would eliminate the barrier once solved.  Wilhelm had been clever, if not a bit egotistical.  To bind a demon in a room with nothing more holding it than a puzzle…he apparently put a lot of faith in no one attempting to make it through his traps.  Or perhaps very little in anyone’s ability to be competent.  She took a few minutes to look at the puzzle, much to the demon’s irritation.  She formulated the solution, then began shifting tiles to solve the puzzle.  As she moved the last tile, the glyph holding the barrier in place was burned away, and the magic holding the barrier vanished.

“Yes…I can feel the magic fading,” the cat seemed to gather its power upon its release.  “Oh…I had forgotten how it feels not to be caged!”

The child became scared at her pet’s new tone.  “Kitty?  What’s happening?”

“A wonderful thing, my dear, for both of us,” the demon shifted its attention to the girl, preparing to possess her.

Revan cleared her throat, distracting the demon as Zevran moved toward the girl.  “I said I’d free you.  I didn’t say I’d let you live.”

The cat’s haunches rose.  “Betrayal!  You will not take the girl!  She is mine!”

“Kitty, you’re scaring me!  I won’t let you inside me!  I won’t!” the girl cowered.

“Zevran, protect Amalia!” Revan ordered as the cat transformed into a desire demon.

The demon, enraged, debated whether to go after her prize or her betrayer.  She decided for the latter, directing her energies toward Revan.  Revan managed to raise a magical shield to block the initial torrent, but quickly dropped it as it sapped her energy too quickly for her liking.  She tried getting under the demon’s guard, but the demon could draw on the Fade and repelled her.  Zevran, meanwhile, was holding back several of the demon’s thralls, keeping the girl safely behind him.  Revan made sure to keep herself on the opposite side to draw the demon’s attention away while she feinted and dodged her magical attacks.  When Zevran had a bit of a breather, she lunged in, relying on her foreign fighting style to throw the demon off.  It worked; the onslaught of her lightsabers made the demon recoil and hiss from the burns, driving her straight into Zevran’s blades.  He laughed as the demon screeched in indignation, so Revan finished her off with a quick sweep of her blades.  The body slumped as Zevran withdrew his daggers and dissolved slowly into ash.  The girl, Amalia, hid near the wall, afraid of the magic from the fight, but she slowly approached the ashes, almost sad.  Zevran laid a hand on her shoulder and, following Revan, led her back up to where her father was waiting.

The relief on his face was palpable as Amalia saw him and ran into his arms.  Hugging his daughter, he said through tears of joy, “You did it!  You freed her!  Thank you so much!”

“I’m sorry I ran away, Daddy!  I was so scared!” Amalia buried her head in his chest.

“It’s all right, butterfly,” he consoled her.  “You’re safe, now.  All the bad creatures are gone.”

Looking up at the two of them, he met eyes with Revan.  “The phrase to activate Shale is ‘ _dulen harn_ ’, if you still want that bloody thing.  I wouldn’t, if I were you.  Now we should go, and quickly.  Thank you again.  We owe you our lives.”

The father and daughter departed, leaving them behind the shimmering barrier.  She looked over at Zevran, who was wiping his daggers clean, an odd expression on his face.

“Should we go get ourselves a golem?” she quipped, hoping to draw him out.

He shrugged.  “After you, General.”

She rolled her eyes but led the way back to the village center, to the statuesque golem.  Again, she brought out the control rod from her pack, but this time she issued the phrase Wilhelm’s son had given her.  A second passed, but then there was a slight rumbling that seemed to originate from the golem.  The crystals and magical runes on the golem began to glow brighter.  The sound of rock grating on rock increased, and as the dust began falling off the golem it managed to move its neck, loosen one of its arms, then the other.  It struck what was an intimidating posture, now fully awake and functional.  Then, with eyes imbued with magical energy, it regarded the two of them.

Sighing, it began, “I knew the day would come when someone would find the control rod.  And of _course_ it is another mage.  That is what it is, yes?  Yes.  Just my luck.”

Revan smiled; she liked the golem already.  “And hello to you, too.”

It moved what seemed to be a rocky eyebrow in an expression of bemusement.  “I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long.  Many, many years,” it exposited.  “I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too.  Tell me, are all the villagers dead?”

“Not all of them, no,” Revan crossed her arms and took a relaxed stance.  They had nothing to fear from the golem.

“Some got away then?  How unfortunate.”

“You didn’t care for them, I take it?” Revan asked in curiosity.

“Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say, and after thirty years as a captive audience, I was as familiar with these villagers as one could possibly be.  Not that I wished their fate on them, no, but it did make for a delightful change of pace.”

Revan guffawed.  “Do you have a name then?”

“Perhaps,” the golem answered coyly.  “I may have forgotten after all the years of being called ‘golem’.  ‘Golem, fetch me that chair.’  ‘Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit.’  And let’s not forget, ‘Golem, pick me up.  I tire of walking.’”  Revan snorted at that.  “It…does have the control rod, doesn’t it?” the golem pondered, looking her over.  “I am awake, so it…must…”

“It certainly does, right in its hand,” Revan jested as she waved the control rod in front of the golem, using the pronoun it preferred to give her.

The golem stared at it.  “I see the control rod, yet I feel… Go on.  Order me to do something.”

She looked around before locking eyes with Zevran.  He blanched as she grinned wickedly at him.  “All right.  Give Zevran a hug.”

“Hey!  I don’t appreciate foreign objects invading my personal space.  Well…usually,” he responded indignantly.

“And…nothing?  I feel nothing,” the golem remarked incredulously.  “I feel no compulsion to carry out its command.  I suppose this means the rod is…broken?”

Revan’s spirits fell a bit.  Here she was, hoping to gain a golem of myth to these people.  But apparently, much like a droid having gone too long without a memory wipe or proper programming, it had developed something akin to free will.  But, she put on a brave face.  Mythal knew she had been neglectful in wiping HK’s memory on more than a few occasions.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” she asked gloomily.

“Hmm…” the golem considered.  “I suppose if I can’t be commanded, this means…I have free will, yes?  It is simply…what should I do?  I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long.  I have no purpose…I find myself at a bit of a loss.”  Unexpectedly, it turned back to Revan.  “What about it?  It must have awoken me for some reason, no?  What did it intend to do with me?”

“Honestly?” Revan steeled herself.  “I started the Blight and I intend to finish it.  I awoke you to help me fight it.”

“Well that’s a very blunt way of putting it,” Zevran muttered.

“Truly?  Well that is quite the tale,” the golem pondered.

“Now that you have free will, however,” Revan pushed past the awkward pause, “the question is, what do you want to do?”

The golem hesitated.  “I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act.  My memories of anything before are…vague at best.  So I have no idea what to do.  I am glad to be mobile, is that not enough?”

“That is up to you my giant friend,” Revan smiled.  “But are you going to keep calling me ‘it’?”

“Yes.  Very likely,” the golem retorted.

She sighed.  “You know, the surviving villagers said you killed your former master…”

“Did I?” the golem tried to remember.  “I remember I had a former master.  The mage with the furry brows who poked and prodded and barked orders.  Did I kill him?  I hope I did kill him.  Perhaps the last order he barked was, ‘Golem!  Stop crushing my head!’  Ha!”

“Can’t say I mind a little bloodthirst,” Revan admitted.

“If it defecates, urinates, or rudely barks orders, I have no issues with crushing its skill.  Just in case it was wondering.”

“Thank you for the warning,” she responded sarcastically.  “So how do I know I can trust you?”

“I have no idea,” the golem was brutally honest.  “How does it trust anything else without a control rod?”

Revan reflected on that.  “Good point.”

“They haven’t killed it, yet.  I consider this a good sign,” the golem shrugged.

“Well, in that case, you are welcome to come with us, or exercise your free will and do as you please,” Revan graciously offered.

The golem considered the offer.  “I will follow it about then…for now.  I am called Shale, by the way.”

“I am Revan, also known as Dragonheart.  Pleased to meet you.”

“ _The_ Dragonheart?  This should be interesting,” Shale said dryly.

“Heard of me?” she raised an eyebrow.

Shale chortled.  “Oh the villagers whispered about it.  It is very scandalous according to them.  A mage and a human masquerading as a Dalish!  How could it do something so abhorrent?”

She smiled. “That’s mild compared to the other things I’ve done.  But, I digress.  We need to meet with our companions.  Shall we?”

* * *

 

“Your left foot is too far back, you are not giving yourself enough reach to strike,” Revan instructed Zevran, holding completely still as he adjusted his form.

She had promised to show him how to wield a lightsaber, and so when the party made camp for the night she had tossed one of her blades to him, giving him little choice in the matter.  He had been hesitant, but warmed to the idea of a challenge, especially when she demonstrated the first few velocities of Shii-Cho, the first form of lightsaber combat.  It was a smooth, basic form that she had mastered early that was deceptive in its simplicity.  A master could wield it like no other, but yet it was easy enough that all apprentices were required to learn it.

Zevran, while a quick learner, was easily frustrated, and far too accustomed to wielding the heavier, steel weapons that the people of Thedas used.  He was not used to having the reach of a proper sword with the weight of a small dagger.  But, Revan had always been a patient teacher.  One had to be if they taught Alec…or Malak, as he had become.  And their instructors never took the time with him that he had needed.  That was part of the reason Revan had become so good at the forms: she had learned them and then taught them diligently, demanding perfection from herself and the students that sought her after hours to become better.

Despite his usual propensity to weasel out of situations that were more demanding than anticipated, Zevran stubbornly pressed on, even though he had begun sweating from holding the poses for so long.  Deceptively easy.  But perfection required the body to remember the correct form, and holding the form perfectly helped with this.  When she was satisfied with his stance, she showed him the next attack and parry of the velocity, the routine that apprentices practiced to master the form.  She often practiced the velocities of the various forms when the rest of the party was asleep, along with some of the more heavy-handed forms that she had learned from the Mandalorians that the Jedi had looked at with scorn.  He tried the new position, to which Revan then made minute corrections until it was perfect.  Then, she had him hold it while she examined for flaws before again moving on.  Once through the set, she had him repeat it, reminding him by calling the name of the pose and striking the velocity’s opposite pose.  Shale watched with apparent interest from a rock to the side.

“Why does the painted elf struggle so?  The form looks easy enough,” Shale remarked.  Revan stifled a giggle at the term “painted elf”, referring to Zevran’s tattoos.

“You’re welcome to come here and try it,” Zevran challenged through gritted teeth as he shifted into the next pose to counter Revan’s attack.  She paused, reaching up to adjust his grip, then resumed her stance.  By the end of the set, Zevran asked for a pause as he removed his shirt and grabbed some water.  Revan mopped her own brow; the form, when held for a long time, was an exercise, but the cool mountain air helped.

“Is the painted elf not a skilled fighter as it is?” Shale asked her as Zevran took his breather.

“Oh no, he is, but I offered to show him some of what I have learned.  It is very different from how he learned how to fight,” she explained, tampering again with her crystal’s alignment.  “I am sure that if Zevran were to teach me the way he fights, I too would struggle.”

Revan paused, examining the crystal, then looked to Shale.  “Say, those crystals you have…”

“I prefer to think of them as accessories,” the golem insisted.

“They are wonderfully pretty,” Revan admitted, “but do you know what they do?”

“I suspect that it is an art that was practiced when golems were more…commonplace.  My former master collected whatever lore he could find on the subject.  He searched far and wide to collect what crystals he could, and then…added them.  It is not an unpleasant sensation.  As I understand it, the crystals allow me to…alter the flow of magic around me.  Wilhelm had hoped to turn me into a battery of mana, something he could tap at will.”

“What a curious idea,” she responded almost absently, thinking about the repercussions.

“I’m so glad it thinks so,” Shale retorted.  “Some of the crystals increase the presence of mana, some absorb or reflect spells…there are various kinds.  All I can promise is that, should it ever find one of these crystals, I can likely tell it the function and what it would do if…added to me.”

“Really?  Would you be willing to have more added?”

“Why not?” Shale responded nonchalantly.  “I don’t get to wear clothing and other adornments like the rest of you creatures, after all.”

Revan removed the kyber crystal from her lightsaber.  “So what would this one do to you, if added?”

Shale stood and approached, examining the crystal curiously.  “In all honesty, I have never seen a crystal like this one.  I can feel its energy…I think it may enhance my own energy far more than anything Wilhelm ever found.  Where did it get this?”

“My second Jedi trials, on a planet called Dantooine” she took the crystal back and replaced it inside its chassis, using the Force to realign it as she had been taught.  “I had to find the crystal that called to me.  It powers my weapons.  But it’s also…sort of a part of me.”

She ignited the weapon, testing its stability.  The blade glowed brightly.  “After this instruction, would you permit me to examine your crystals?  I noticed many of them were fractured.”

The golem regarded her closely.  “If I kill it, I take no responsibility.”

“Deal,” Revan smiled mischievously as Zevran returned, having forsaken his shirt from the exertion.  Tattoos covered most of his body, but they were almost as elegant as her _vallaslin_ , and she wondered if they had similar meaning.  He had even bound up his hair in preparation.

“Again,” he ignited his blade.

She smiled toothily at him, and proceeded to move through the velocity at a slightly faster pace, pushing him until he made a mistake, which she would pause to correct.  Shale continued to watch, engrossed, until it was obvious that Zevran had suffered enough for the time being.  He tossed her back her lightsaber and left to bathe some of the sweat off, leaving Revan to prepare dinner and then to tinker with Shale.  As their dinner stewed, she climbed on a rock to look down on to Shale’s crystal-covered back and managed to pry one out to examine.  Sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed – it was a lower-quality kyber crystal, influenced by this world’s particular relationship with the Fade and lyrium.  With Shale’s permission, she removed them all and began sorting them based on damage and quality.  Those that were damaged or fractured, she would need to spend more time salvaging, but the others could be replaced.  The mage, Wilhelm, had obviously had no idea what he was doing when he had started adding crystals, as he had added them seemingly at random and without any regard as to their properties or orientation or effects.  No wonder he had died.  He had most likely tried adding a corrupted or heavily damaged crystal which had tampered with Shale’s basic operating parameters and, magical conduits blown out by the energies of the offending crystal, the golem had most likely crushed him in a pure fit of malfunctioning circuitry before the conduits had tried to reset themselves and put Shale on “low power mode”.  _Damned idiot_.

Carefully, she took one crystal at a time, starting with the most powerful, and positioned them on Shale where they would amplify the golem’s abilities most.  It took most of her concentration, as she had to determine how the golem’s energies flowed and had to match its resonance with that of the crystals.  She almost let dinner burn, but she was at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.  She worked her way down to the lowest quality but intact crystals, again cautiously placing them with great consideration.  She was dimly aware that Zevran had returned and was watching with curiosity, but the task before her quickly required her full attention.  It was a fortunate thing that aligning crystals had been another of her specialties, though she had never thought it was that great of a talent.  The most she had ever gotten from it was a kind word from the Jedi Masters on how quickly she had assembled her lightsaber – and how accurately!  If only they knew.  But, eventually, she completed her task.

“How do you feel?” Revan asked the giant stone golem as she gathered the broken crystals that would need repair.

Shale flexed and stretched.  “I feel…I feel better than I have in years!  Or ever!  Where did it learn to do that?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  It’s just a…talent I have.”

“Surely it must be considered a great mage if it knew how to do this,” the golem insisted.

Revan barked a laugh.  “Great?  Perhaps.  But not for this.  Mainly for killing a lot of people.”

The golem seemed to smile slyly at her.  “Perhaps it is not as soft and squishy as I first thought it was.”

“You know, I had a friend once who thought the same as you.  But he called me a ‘meatbag’.”

“Hmm…‘meatbag’…yes, I think I like this word,” Shale’s magic eyes gleamed wickedly.  “I think I shall begin using it.  Thank you, _meatbag_.”

“You’re welcome, _golem_.”

* * *

 

Revan did not manage to sleep much in the days spent traveling between Honnleath and Haven.  Between sparring sessions with Zevran and using the Force to carefully heal Shale’s crystals and the miles of walking uphill into the mountains, she was weary.  Often times she caught herself with an irritated remark on her tongue.  But she remembered her promise to herself to not give in to her anger and kept herself in check.  Zevran remained taciturn as they traveled but displayed an increasing drive to do well in the drills she put him through.  She began talking with Shale instead as a way to keep herself awake as they trudged into the cold Frostback Mountains.  It truly was remarkable how similar the giant golem was to the unassuming HK-47, except Shale seemed to possess something…else, besides just programming.  Was it because of the crystals?

It was mid-morning when they saw the smoke from a village.  As they rounded the thousandth switchback of their journey, they spied a small camp carefully out of sight of the village proper.  A large Qunari sat tending the flames.

Revan smiled and approached the fire.  “Hello Sten.”

The Qunari looked up at her, then quickly got to his feet.  “It is good to see you again, _kadan_.  I see you have picked up another…companion.”

“Sten, this is Shale, a golem forged by the dwarves.  This is the cause of our delay,” Revan introduced the golem, who seemed to immediately size up the giant and deem him acceptable even as he sized the golem up and reached the same conclusion.  “Where are the others?”

“The Sister is checking our traps and the elder _bas saarebas_ is gathering herbs,” he responded.  “They shall return shortly.”

They sat down around the campfire.  “What can you tell me about the village?  Have you located the Urn of Sacred Ashes?”

Sten stared at her intently.  “The village harbors some dark secrets.  They do not appreciate outsiders and have tried to turn us away when we approach.  On the second day the Sister snuck into a house and discovered a bloody alter, possibly used for sacrifices.  We have not been allowed near their Chantry, where their Father is giving sermons.”

“Father?” she asked, confused.

“They said that it is the way things have always been in Haven,” he answered bluntly.  “Both the bard and the _bas saarebas_ find it strange and unnatural.

“But tell me: do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the Archdemon from the rear?”

“Are you asking me why we are here?” Revan’s face grew dark.

“Indeed, I am,” Sten challenged her.

“You know that this is necessary.  We have discussed this.”

“Is it necessary?  I see I was mistaken, then.  It seemed to me that we were climbing a mountain in the middle of nowhere on some frivolous whim of yours,” Sten responded irately.

Revan struggled to keep her anger checked, formulating a calm response to the Qunari’s attacks.  “We must cure the Arl of Redcliffe.”

“How will this help him?”

“It is said the Ashes can heal him,” she reminded him.  “For he is beyond my and Wynne’s ability to heal him.”

“I have no doubt in your _faith_ ,” the Qunari commented.  “I am beginning to doubt your _sanity_ , however.  The Archdemon is our goal.  And we are heading away from it.  To find the charred remains of a dead woman.  You haven’t thought this through.”

Her fists were shaking.  “Sten, I believe it is you who have not thought this through.  What would happen if the Grey Wardens arrived at Qunandar with an army of non-Qunari soldiers with the claim that they were there for your protection?  Would the Qun believe them?  Or would your people retaliate?  Now, say a member of the Qun traveled with them and supported their claims, saying that they were there only to help.  That would give them credibility.  It is the same here.  We need the Arl because we need credibility, otherwise we shall have to fight a war on two fronts.  We cannot defeat the Archdemon if we do not have the people of Ferelden supporting us.  As it is, our army is too small to have any chance of stopping the army of the Archdemon, and I fear that even with the Arl’s men we will still be sorely outnumbered.  We cannot waste our resources on something as _frivolous_ as fighting Loghain on his terms.  And the Urn is the only thing we are aware of that has the power to cure the Arl.”

Sten took a moment to consider, then dipped his head in acceptance.  “I have spoken my mind.”

“Your words have been noted,” Revan said coolly.  “I appreciate your opinion, but I have explained the necessity of this.  We have few options that will lead to victory.  This plan is the most likely to have a successful outcome.  I just need you to trust me.  If this does not work, then may the blame fall on me.”

“I trust you with my life, _kadan_.  But this is not my life at risk.  It is our goal.”

“I will not fail, Sten,” she softened.  “I cannot.”

Sten looked about to respond, but his face resumed its cool impassivity as the bushes rustled nearby and Leliana came in to view, carrying a dead rabbit that had been snared in their traps.  She looked surprised to see Revan and her little band, and gave them an amicable greeting.  Revan still did not trust the girl, but upon her many hours of reflection in the past few days she had decided that her distrust and dislike did not mean being disagreeable towards Leliana.  In fact, the girl reminded her considerably of Bastila and the other devoted followers of the Jedi Order.  She strongly believed in what she had been taught and denied her own talents and dissenting thoughts.  This, however, was no reason to not be cordial or rude.  She greeted the bard with as much warmth as she could muster, given her argument with Sten, and introduced Shale.  Leliana seemed initially intimidated by the golem, but that was to be expected.  Shale was intimidating.  Wynne returned soon after with a bundle of herbs and took a long look at their newest companion.

“I see now the reason for your delay,” the mage lay the herbs down and began plucking off the leaves as Revan skinned a rabbit.

“Wynne, this is Shale.  Shale, Wynne,” Revan waved a bloody hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Shale,” Wynne bowed her head politely.

Shale grunted in reply, muttering something about yet another mage.  They took some time to cook breakfast and eat, filling Shale, Zevran, and Revan in on what they had learned about the village.  Revan then spoke about how they had found Shale, though to save Shale face Revan did not mention that the control rod had been free.  They packed up camp; today they would discover the true nature of Haven, and hopefully, they would find the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

They trod up the mountain path as a party.  The three that had been observing Haven for the past several days had a weary air about them.  Revan was merely curious to see how out-of-place this village was.  A gruff guard stood at the top of the path before the village proper.

The guard gave them a suspicious glance over, and deciding Revan was the leader as she was at the front, warned, “What are you doing in Haven?  There is nothing for you here.”

“I happen to have business here,” Revan countered.

He grunted.  “No, you do not.  I would have been informed if someone was expecting…a visitor.”

“Perhaps, then, you might know if there is a Brother Genitivi here?” she inquired, hoping that the monk was still alive.  She had her suspicions to the contrary.

“Who?” the guard acted confused, but the Jedi could tell he was deceiving them.  “Perhaps Revered Father Eirik will know of whom you speak.  Unfortunately, he is ministering to the villagers at the moment, and cannot be disturbed.  I suggest you seek your brother elsewhere.”

“Would you mind if we looked around for him then?” she insisted.  “I am quite certain he is here.”

“We do not appreciate lowlanders ‘looking around’ our home as though it were some sort of zoo,” the guard snarled in his odd accent.

“Very well.  If you will excuse us,” Revan tried to be polite.

The guard eyed her coolly.  “You may trade for supplies at the shop if you wish.  Then I suggest you and your…companions leave.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement, and led the party into the village.  Once out of earshot of the guard, Wynne beckoned her.

“As we said earlier, we should tread carefully here.  There is something amiss here.”

“Ah, quiet, insular communities.  There’s always something nasty going on behind closed doors,” Zevran commented, having resumed his favorite game of scandalizing Wynne.

She shot him a flat glare.  “You always think there’s something nasty going on behind closed doors.”

“That’s because there often is,” he winked at her.  “I hope it involves chains.  I hope they ask me to join in.”

Ignoring his comment, Revan turned to Leliana.  “Where was the bloody alter you found?”

The bard gestured to a house behind her, trying to be discrete.  “That one had the largest.  The others were smaller, but every house had one.  I made it to the hill where the Chantry is before I turned back.

“Where is the shop then?”

Leliana gestured up another hill.  Revan figured that perhaps they could glean a bit more information before heading to the Chantry.

The village was eerily quiet for midmorning.  Usually, there would be women doing chores or men doing work or children at play, but the few children they did see scurried away at their approach.  Even the sound of the animals was muted, as if they knew what dark secrets lurked in Haven.  It made the hairs on the back of Revan’s neck stand on end.  Something was most definitely wrong.  It felt like Malachor V, or Korriban.  She had to resist drawing her lightsabers as they crept deeper into the village.  But, they reached the shop.  It was small, but clean.  Upon entering, the shopkeeper looked up in surprise and then terror.  Unsurprising, given that Revan wore an eyepatch and was covered in scars, Sten was a hulking Qunari, Shale was a massive walking stone covered in glittering crystals, and all but Wynne wore armor.

“Who are you?” the shopkeeper managed to speak.  “You’re not from Haven…”

Revan picked up a leather canteen from the table it rested on and examined it.  “Why does everyone tell me that like I don’t already know it?”

As she looked over at the shopkeeper with barely hidden annoyance, she saw him blanch.  “We…we don’t get many visitors.”

“Can you tell me about Haven?” she turned the canteen over and peered at the stitching, while really trying to look around with her second sight.  She had an odd feeling about this shop.

“How would you describe the place you know only as home?”  The shopkeeper was not a very forthcoming person.  The rest of the party mingled about the store, feigning interest in the items.

“Have you seen a man called Brother Genitivi?” she put the canteen down and, sniffing the air, noticed two very distinct smells.  She moved towards one, and gestured for Zevran, who had noticed her odd behavior, to move toward the back of the shop where the second was.  Luckily, he still understood her perfectly and began silently moving in the indicated direction.

The shopkeeper paled even more.  “No…I’ve never heard that name.”

With Zevran distracted, she held up the item of her curiosity.  “Can I trade for these?”

The shopkeeper opened his mouth to respond, but noticed a slight shift of the shadows as Zevran moved around the corner.  “What are you doing?  That’s private!” the shopkeeper yelled indignantly.

“What are you hiding?” Zevran asked coyly.

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern,” the man, suddenly emboldened, said with false confidence.

Suspicions confirmed, Revan strode over to the counter and stared the man down calmly.  “I am making it my concern.  That’s the smell of rotting flesh.”

“No!” the shopkeeper drew a dagger.  “You have no right!”

He tried stabbing Revan from across the counter, but he was stabbing down and holding the dagger poorly.  Revan took a small step back, letting him bury the dagger safely in the wood from his mistimed stab, before reaching out with the Force.  She imagined a hand squeezing his throat shut, preventing air for entering his lungs.  The man clawed at his windpipe as she used the Force to choke him, but she held firm and soon his body hung limp, asphyxiated.  She released her hold on him, letting his body slide to the floor.  Then she turned toward the shocked faces of her companions.

“What?” she said defensively.  “Less mess this way.  Harder to determine the cause of death.”

“Still…I fear his shouts may have drawn unneeded attention,” Wynne was the first to recover.

Revan nodded her agreement.  Swiping the item she had intended to purchase and discreetly putting them in her pack, she followed Zevran into the back room.  It looked to be the shopkeeper’s bedroom, but by the bed was a rotting and bloody corpse.  Zevran stopped several steps away and pinched his nose closed from the overwhelming scent of decay.  Revan, unfortunately, was too used to it.  She knelt next to the body and scrubbed off the dried blood from the herald on his breastplate and shield.  Sure enough, it bore the tower and red hill of Redcliffe.  She sighed and commended his soul to the Force.  Hopefully, Brother Genitivi had not met the same fate.  The others stood near the doorway, but the smell was overpowering to them, too, with the exception of Shale who was just too large to enter the domicile.  She told them the truth: the body was a knight of Redcliffe.  The denizens of Haven had struck the first blow.

She could sense that more villagers were rushing towards the shop, and quickly.  She told the rest of them to grab whatever warm clothing was in the shop, given the climate.  Then, drawing her lightsabers, she told the party to be on their guard before opening the door.  Sure enough, villagers in shoddy armor were rushing towards the shop and the brazen shouts of their comrade.  They mostly wielded large mauls and axes, and their eyes were mad.  She leapt away from the door and ignited her blades before taking a defensive stance in front of the party.  She barked orders to the others; Sten vaulted Leliana on to the roof of the shop, where she crouched and knocked an arrow.  Shale took point alongside her, crouched low and ready to barrel over those that got too close.  Sten rushed to her other side.  Wynne stayed in the doorway, ready to fall back if needed, staff at the ready.  And Zevran…well, she did not need to order him around.  He knew what to do.  In fact, she could no longer see him, so he had already started flanking.

As the enraged villagers reached them, Revan did not worry about finesse, only avoiding their heavy blows and striking underneath their guard.  Sten, meanwhile, was a powerhouse, issuing challenges and swinging his greatsword _Asala_ faster than they could raise their hammers and blades.  Shale, meanwhile, was an impregnable bulwark, and the golem used its incredible mass as a living boulder, crushing heads and slamming bodies.  Arrows screamed in from overhead, but those that got too close Revan was able to bat away with sword or slight exertion of the Force.  Quickly, though, the onslaught of arrows slackened as Zevran stealthily cut down the archers from behind.  Meanwhile, the frenzied folk were continuously felled by the constant stream of arrows loosed by Leliana.  Wynne, in the rear, imbued them with extra perception and strength, while lighting some targets on fire or freezing others.  The battle did not last long; despite their numbers and bloodlust, the villagers were no matched for the battle hardened veterans.  But, Revan sensed it was not over.  Blades still humming, she stepped over the corpses at their feet and turned towards the hill, on top of which was perched the arch and steepled wooden edifice of the Chantry.  More villagers stood on the slopes, but these were slightly more prepared for them and were ready for a battle pitched in their favor, given their uphill advantage.  Revan turned to Wynne.

“Can you make that slope ice?” she asked, not thrilled about the alternatives.

Wynne looked at her strangely, but raised her staff, muttered a few simple words under breath, and stabbed her staff skyward.  The top glowed, and ice began spreading up the slope.  Wynne began looking drained, but the ice crept up and the villagers began losing their footing.  Revan nodded at Leliana, who began taking aim and shooting the slipping combatants.  Then, Revan commanded Shale to shake the ground at the base of the slope.  The tremors dislodged the remaining villagers, and Revan, letting her lightsabers hang low to melt the ice in front of her, went to greet them.  The path cleared, Revan beckoned the rest of her companions to follow her melted trail, and they continued to the summit.

Revan pushed open the doors of the Chantry.  The candles inside sputtered at the sudden gust of wind.  In front of her, a wizened and wicked looking man dressed not in Chantry robes, but in those an apostate would wear, was preaching over a large conglomeration of devoted villagers.

The Father looked up from his mutterings.  “Ah…welcome.  I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village.  I trust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

Revan scowled.  “You killed the knights of Redcliffe.  We found the bodies.”

“This my brothers,” the Father, Eirik, spoke to his congregation, “is what happens when you let an outsider into the village.  They have no respect for our privacy.  She will tell others of us if we let her.  Word will spread, and then what?”  He turned his attention back to the Jedi.  “You, stranger, do not understand our ways.  You would bring war to Haven, in your ignorance.”

“You have brought war upon yourselves if you murder innocents,” Revan hissed.  “What about Brother Genitivi?  What have to done to him?”

“We don’t owe you any explanations for our actions,” Eirik defended.  “We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin.  All will be forgiven.”

With that, he raised his staff and sent a blast of magical energy, designed to knock the intruders off their feet, but Revan was fast enough that she was able to raise a barrier to absorb the energy and let it drop before Eirik had puzzled out what had happened.  Meanwhile, the villagers had all gotten to their feet and drawn their weapons, ready to charge their enemies.  A bloodlust entered their eyes, eerily similar to the bloodlust of the Iridonians she had met.  Shale and Sten rushed ahead of her on either side to rush the villagers.  Zevran and Leliana drew daggers and, climbing over the pews, began flanking.  Revan and Wynne, meanwhile, spent their energy shielding the rest from Eirik’s and his attendants’ attacks and using offensive magic of their own.  Once she saw an opening to Eirik, however, Revan rushed through the throng and, having surprised the unshielded apostate, sliced him in half with her blades.  She vaulted out of the way of the attacks of his attendants, who had now taken precautions to defend against her.  The first lost his concentration when Revan Force pushed him into the wall, where she plunged her blades through his chest.  The second she was about to approach when two daggers sprouted on either side of his neck, and Zevran’s wicked grin gleamed at her from behind him.  Sten cut down the last of the villagers, spattering blood over his armor, and Revan took in the carnage.

There was blood everywhere.  It made it harder to see any of the strange details of the Chantry, but there was evidence enough.  She closed her physical eye and felt with the Force for any remaining lifeforms.  There was one, but it was faint.  She headed in its direction…and was met with a wall.  She put her hands on her hips and considered it.  The rest of the party spread out, checking the rest of the building for any remaining traps or evidence or items of curiosity.  Revan looked around, trying to find a door or any indication that there was another room on the other side of the wall.  She was certain there was, but how to get it…

She felt Zevran appear at her side.  “Something interesting about this wall?”

She grimaced.  “Only that there is something on the other side.”

She looked toward him and he quickly looked away, hoping she had not noticed.  He quickly scanned the area, then, giving an excited _aha!_ , reached up and pulled down on a sconce.  Immediately, part of the wall shifted away from them and swung open: a hidden door.  Inside were rows of tall bookshelves, stacked with books, and on the bloody rug was a man that did not appear to belong there.  Revan rushed in at the sight of him.  He wore a pendant of Andraste, had a receding hairline, sported a five o’clock shadow of neglected facial hair, and had a bloody and mangled leg that were evidence of torture.

The man looked up at her in fear, but with a little resignation in his eyes.  “Who are you?  They…they’ve sent you to finish it?”

“Not yet, brother,” Revan chuckled.  “I am Dragonheart.  I am here to help you.”

His eyes lit up.  “You don’t know how glad I am to see someone who isn’t from this village.  I –” he spasmed, grasping at his broken leg.  Then, sighing he fell back on the floor.  “The leg’s not doing so well and…and I can’t feel my foot.”

“Wynne!” Revan called.  The elder mage rushed in.  She was tired, but still alert.  “Can you help?”

Wynne knelt down next to the man and gently examined the leg without yet cutting away his clothes.  “I can set the leg and ease some of the pain, but he’ll need a lot of rest in order to heal.”

“I don’t have time to rest now,” Brother Genitivi protested.  “I’m so close.  The Urn is just up that mountain.”

Revan’s eye flashed in excitement.  _So close!_   “I need to find the Ashes.  Arl Eamon gets sicker by the day.”

“The arl is sick?” the brother propped himself up on his elbows. “Will he live?”

Revan pursed her lips, but gestured for Wynne to begin her administrations.  In the meantime she went over to the bookshelves and began ripping away some wood to make a fire with.  “The arl was poisoned under Loghain’s orders.”

“Politics,” he spit, looking away as Wynne borrowed Zevran’s dagger to cut away his trousers.  “Never did anyone any good.  The arl is a noble soul.  But the Ashes…the Ashes will surely cure him.

“Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn.  There is an old temple there, built to protect it.  The door is always locked, but I know what the key is.  Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door…I’ve seen what he does with it.”

“This medallion?” Leliana appeared in the frame of the false door, holding up a curious metal pendant.

The brother’s face lit up excitedly.  “Yes, that is your key.  Take me to the mountainside, and I will show you.”

“Hold on, brother,” Revan chided him.  “We must tend to your leg first, and I am not allowing you to move until Wynne says it is safe to do so.”  Having stripped enough wood from the shelves and other furniture, she began looking at the titles on the book spines for suitable kindling.  She hated burning books, but there were a few worthy titles.  “In the meanwhile, could you answer some questions for me?”

Brother Genitivi hung his head in resignation as Wynne began cleaning the blood, with Zevran’s unwilling help, but he agreed.  Revan asked him about the knights, the town of Haven, about his assistant, Weylon, distracting him as Wynne summoned Sten to hold the man steady as she set his leg.  Eventually, Revan found two books of the same author whose critics had claimed, “truly it is hard to determine, which of his  two books is the most true, or rather which of them is the least false; all I know is, that he shall go to the pile for his arrogance and folly.”  She ripped out their pages and, with a snap of her fingers, lit her makeshift campfire near the ailing brother as they chatted.  She asked Shale to clear the bodies out of the Chantry until they could be cremated in between questions, while Leliana searched for items they could use or that she could deliver back to the Chantry in Denerim.  Once Brother Genitivi’s leg was set, both Revan and Wynne aided in knitting together some of the torn flesh and broken bone so the brother could at least hobble, but Wynne was insistent that they not move him until the morning.  Revan could not argue that point, so they made camp in that room in order for her and Wynne to minister to Brother Genitivi’s bandages in the night.  The sleepless Shale offered to stand guard in case any pesky cultists came back in the night.  In the morning, they would retrieve the Urn of Sacred Ashes.


	16. Act XVI

Act XVI: Haven

_Revan_

She dragged the last of the bodies to a clearing slightly away from the Chantry.  The others had been exhausted from their battle to get to the Chantry, so she had allowed them to rest while she and Shale prepared those they had slain to be laid to rest.  No sense in leaving the bodies to rot; they deserved at least a cremation.  The rest of the villagers had boarded up their houses and prudently stayed away from her and the menacing golem as they went about their business.  As the last of the bodies was laid out, Revan looked awkwardly at Shale.

“Should we say something?”

The golem raised a rocky imitation of an eyebrow.  “Why?”

“It feels wrong to not.  They believed in a religion, and they commended their dead to some afterlife, but I do not know their words.  I would not disrespect them.”

“They are dead, what do they care?” Shale asked flatly.

Revan smiled sadly.  “Dead they may be, but a strong soul may linger and can take offense.  You would be surprised how many of the dead we have had to fight.”

Shale pondered this.  “Very well.  I suppose we can say something…”

“Perhaps I can?” a new voice spoke.  Wynne appeared behind them, leaning heavily on her staff.  Revan stepped aside so Wynne could stand with them.  The mage cleared her throat, and began singing:

“ _The Light shall lead her safely Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.  As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, She should see fire and go towards Light.  The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._ ”

As Wynne bowed her head at the closing of the chant, Revan snapped her fingers, and the bodies caught on fire.  They stood in silence until the wind had carried the last of the ashes toward the sky.  Shale wordlessly left to resume its position as guard to prevent more villagers from attacking them.  Revan, however, stood rooted to the spot.  She looked to Wynne.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“I am glad I could commend them to the Maker,” the mage commented, “but it is not the reason I came outside.  I…wanted to speak to you.  In private.”

Revan looked around with both her sights; there appeared to be no eavesdroppers.  “Then please, Wynne, speak your mind.”

The elder woman’s face looked at her critically.  “I am curious as to your relationship with Zevran.  He seems not his usual…charismatic self.”

“He has not made a comment about your bosom since we have returned?” Revan joked.

Wynne chuckled and shook her head.  “No, I cannot say he has, which is very out of character.  I have to wonder what happened in your travels.”

“I wonder as well,” Revan sighed.  “It started one night when I was stargazing.  He came and joined me, and I pointed out some of the stars I knew.  After he just was…distant.”

The mage moved over to a boulder to sit, and Revan sat on the ground nearby.  Wynne considered her words.  “What did you say?  Exactly?”

Revan shrugged and plucked a blade of the scraggily grass, twirling it about in her fingers.  “I apologized for my anger.  I had been in a bad mood and had unfairly taken it out on him.  I told him about my life in the Jedi Order.  Then I pointed out the world I was born on; the world Carth, the man I love, was from; Mandalore, the world —”

“Ah,” Wynne interrupted.  “That would explain it.  But first, the ‘world you were born on’?”

Revan grinned sheepishly.  “I suppose I should explain.  I am not from Thedas.  I was born on a similar world, but one that orbits a different star.  I came here in a ship that can sail between such worlds.  I was…I wanted power.  To stop a war that threatened many innocent people.  This is how I met Urthemiel and made the deal to awaken him.”

Wynne looked at her strangely.  The tale of how she had made a deal with Urthemiel was not new; Rose had made her promise to be honest with all their traveling companions, and she had kept that promise and told them the truth.  Wynne had been disappointed, but agreed that being a Grey Warden and helping to stop him was a start at repentance.  The strangeness, Revan guessed, was at learning that there were other worlds around other stars with life of their own.

“It explains much about you,” Wynne pondered.

“Do you think…do you think it scared him?  That I am not from this world?  Or perhaps he thought I did not trust him, since I had not told him sooner?”

Wynne laughed.  “Oh no, dear.  He would merely think you were exotic.  No, he is brooding because you are in love with someone else.”

Revan stared up at Wynne, all thought having left her head.  “I do not understand.”

“He is quite smitten with you,” Wynne grinned.  “He has not exactly been subtle.”

Revan’s stomach fell like a chunk of lead, and her heart threatened to tear its way out of her chest.  Her skin felt clammy and cold. 

“Oh no.” 

Even as Wynne said the words, she tried to reason that it could not be true.  But part of her had known for weeks.  And part of her…

“So what are you going to do about it?” Wynne drew her out of the black hole that had threatened to consume her thoughts.

The Jedi swallowed.  She did not want to look inside for the truth.  She did not want to acknowledge the facts.  “I do not know.”

“You are truly in love with this Carth?” the mage asked.

Revan buried her head in her hands and took several breaths.  “I am.  You must understand, Wynne.  I have done so many terrible things.  I have ruined so many lives, killed so many people...  I was spared.  The Jedi Council decided that only I had the knowledge and power to stop the evil I had unwittingly unleashed.  But they first erased my memories, hoping to ‘reset’ my personality, make me their puppet, prevent me from taking back the power I had found.  I was angry when I found out, but with my memories back I think they did what they had to.  When they took my memories, they gave me a second chance.  I fell in love, with Carth.  But they had not told anyone outside the Order, so when he found out…he was outraged.  I had…I had destroyed his home.  I had murdered his wife.  I had slaughtered his friends.  He had no reason to stay, or to forgive me.  But he did.  He was the first person that I had truly hurt that decided to forgive me.  No matter what…I could never _not_ love him.  I owe him so much.  And I promised him that one day, I would return to him.  I cannot…I cannot break that vow.”

She looked up at the heavens, tears falling from her eye.  Wynne look on in empathy, allowing Revan to regain her composure.

“And how do you feel about Zevran?”

“That is a cruel question to ask, Wynne,” Revan chided her, wiping away the tears.

“It is a necessary one,” the mage prompted.  “It is obvious that you care about him.  But how much?”

“It matters not.  I made a vow.  I will not break it, no matter what my heart may say to the contrary,” Revan shook her head adamantly.

Wynne appraised the statement.  “So there is something there?”

“I do not know,” Revan admitted, scared to truly prod her feelings on the matter.  “Zevran is…it feels like I have known him my whole life.  It feels like he is an extension of me, that he was always supposed to be next to me.  Even when I shared a connection through the Force with another…it was not the same.  Even with my apprentice, it always felt that I was the leader, that he followed my lead in all.  Zevran is not like that.  He defers to me not because that is his nature, but because he believes I would make the better choice.  He is…similar to me.  In so many ways.  Even he does not know how similar we truly are.  It scares me, sometimes.  But at the same time, I could not imagine if he was not in my life.”

Silence fell over the two of them.  Revan stared at the blade of grass in her fingers, twirling it about and hoping that her shame would abate.  _Did she have feelings for Zevran?_   It was an intimidating thought.  If she did, would she be betraying Carth?  Could she have feelings for two people at the same time?  On one hand, Carth had forgiven her, shown her what stability and family truly meant.  He had shown her the meaning of forgiveness and repentance.  At the same time, he was noble of soul, and he had disagreed with many of her philosophies, though his anger matched her own.  They had fought many times, and his fury could easily rival hers, though she had more power to back hers up.  Zevran, meanwhile, believed the same things she did, and agreed with her on many things.  She felt more herself when she was with Zevran, where her anger was not a danger that could tempt her to the Dark Side but a part of her that strangely made her more at peace with herself.  She no longer felt muted, no longer felt that she was a molded model of what the Jedi Order expected her to be.  And it was true; she could not imagine what her life would be like without him.  Without either of them.

“You need to tell him,” Wynne interrupted her thoughts.  “You need to tell him the truth about how you feel.  It does not serve to have him distracted while there is still a Blight to fight.”

Revan sighed.  Wynne was right.  “How can I tell him the truth when I cannot tell myself it?”

Wynne smiled at her sadly.  “Perhaps it will be easier to admit it than you think.”

Revan grimaced, but taking a deep breath, responded, “I will speak with him.  Thank you, Wynne.”

Wynne stood from her perch on the boulder, squeezed her shoulder in sympathy, and hobbled off back towards the Chantry.  Revan sighed and stared over the village of Haven, gathering her thoughts and her courage.  Soft, light grey clouds rolled through the mountains, broken up by the rays of the setting sun peaking over the snow-capped mountains, tinging the sky in a mosaic of pastels.  Though a darkness lay across the village, the scene before her was undeniably beautiful.  She wondered to herself if one day, she would return and witness this beauty again.  Then, steeling herself, she stood, wiped the dirt off her leathers, and headed toward the Chantry.  Best confront Zevran now, before she could not look him in the eye.

* * *

 

_Zevran_

What a fool he was.

He had stepped outside to get away from Leliana’s accusing and pious glares and Sten’s accusing and protective ones, only for the wind to be in his favor and carry the conversation between Revan and Wynne to his ears.  His curiosity getting the best of him, he had climbed onto the roof of the Chantry and found a spot in the beams to hide while still being able to hear everything that passed between them.  He just hoped that whatever odd magical sight Revan had would not be enough to catch him this time.

It quickly became apparent that the conversation was about him.  He strained to hear every word, his concentration drowning his quick pulse.  Wynne was questioning Revan, trying to figure out why he had been in such a disagreeable mood of late.  He couldn’t blame them.  He hadn’t been himself since that night.  He had been…hurt.  The fact that Revan still thought of Carth even though it turned it out he wasn’t even in Thedas...he thought that she should have gotten over Carth.  After all, couldn’t she see the truth?  She was everything he wanted.  She was everything Rinna had been, but at the same time she was everything she hadn’t been.  Contradictory, but that was Revan.  She was an enigma, a mystery, and he would have gladly spent his entire life puzzling her out.

And yet.  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her how he felt.  He was a coward.  He knew it, of course, and her being in love with Carth didn’t help matters.  Hearing Wynne say how he felt, however, left him feeling hollow.  It was true.  He couldn’t deny it, as he had denied it with Rinna. 

He might actually love her.

And it killed him inside that she was in love with another.

He was not the jealous type.  He could not afford to be in his line of work.  Life was short, and he took what he could because tomorrow might mean death.  Or Grey Wardens that changed your life.  Either way, pleasures were few and had to be enjoyed in the moment.  That meant that married women (and the occasional man, he didn’t deny beauty when he found it) were never excluded from his desires.  He had ruined more than one marriage before, certainly.  But he had never been jealous of the betrayed husband (or wife).  In fact, there had been a few times where he had shared a bed with both.  And yet, somehow with Revan it hurt to know that she had another.  It didn’t help that she had made it clear that she was unshakably loyal to Carth.  He felt an aching in his chest whenever he thought about it, a feeling he had never experienced before.

As he listened more, he heard Revan tell the tale of how she had fallen in love with the man who had stolen Zevran’s chance at happiness.  And his heart fell.  He realized, with a feeling of cold certainty, that he had no right to expect her to fall in love with him.  Carth, it seemed, had done what Zevran had not been able to do: he had forgiven.  Zevran thought back to Rinna, to how she had begged him for mercy and forgiveness.  She had been innocent, and still he had denied her and watched her be cut her down without a second thought.  Carth, meanwhile, had witnessed Revan’s crimes firsthand, and yet had still found it within himself to forgive her.  To love her.

Carth was a better man than he was.  Carth deserved Revan more than he did, and Revan deserved someone as compassionate and wonderful as Carth.  Who was he to get between them?  Who was he to demand love he did not deserve?

He saw the slight shimmer of tears on Revan’s face, even from a distance, and saw her shoulders shake as she looked up at the sky.  He yearned to rush to her and to hold her as he had in the Brecilian Forest, after telling her the tale of Rinna and his failure.  He could still smell her sometimes: the rich scent of leather soap, the sharp tang of steel, and the sweet hint of black summer cherries.

It was then that Wynne asked her how she felt about Zevran.  His breath caught in his throat.  And Revan answered in a way that caught him completely off guard.  She did not say that she felt nothing.  She did not say she did not love him.  But she did not say anything to the contrary.  Instead, she described how close they were, something he had also noticed.  It had felt like he had known her _his_ entire life.  He realized that he had grown accustomed to her presence, and that, whenever they were apart, he found himself looking forward to being reunited with her.  If anything happened to her…

“You need to tell him,” Wynne interrupted his thoughts.  “You need to tell him the truth about how you feel.  It does not serve to have him distracted while there is still a Blight to fight.”

He heard Revan sigh, saw her shoulders sag. “How can I tell him the truth when I cannot tell myself it?”

Wynne responded in her motherly tone, “Perhaps it will be easier to admit it than you think.”

Revan took a deep breath and responded, “I will speak with him.  Thank you, Wynne.”

As Wynne stood up to leave, Zevran clamored down from his hiding spot and made his way back inside the Chantry.  He went to his pack and pulled out his reserve stash of Antivan brandy.  Sten eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing as he sharpened his sword almost tenderly.  He took the bottle into another room; he didn’t need witnesses.  He uncorked the bottle and took a large swig.  It burned, but he needed to dull the edge for what he needed to do.  Wynne had been wrong: he could be distracted, he was expendable.  It was Revan who could not be distracted, especially due to him.  He needed to reassure her.  If he could not be her lover, then he would at least be her friend and damn the rest.

He took another large swig and returned to the room they had made camp in.  He tucked the brandy back in his pack, ignoring Sten’s judgmental glare.  Then, he set himself to conditioning his own leather armor and tried not to think about how the soap smelled so much like her until Revan returned.  She took longer to return than he had expected, but he pretended that he had not been expecting her.  The Chantry doors clanged open, and Zevran braced himself for what he had to do.  She turned the corner.  He looked up from his armor.

“Revan,” he set the leather aside.  “I had been meaning to talk with you.  If you have a moment.”

It was apparent by a momentary flicker of surprise that she had not expected this.  “Of course.  Why do we not take a walk, then?”

He stood and followed her out the front doors of the Chantry.  The sun peaked through the clouds over the tops of the mountains, and the cold air made everything clearer.  The dark pines stood in stark contrast against the white snow, opposite the white lines that were carved starkly across her tanned face.  He looked away quickly.

Before she could speak, he cleared his throat.  “I realize I have been…distant of late.  I wanted to apologize.  It is not you; I have merely been thinking.  When you pointed out all those worlds that you have visited from your life before…it made me realize how much I haven’t seen,” he lied easily, the brandy in his veins oiling his tongue.  “I have spent so much of my life with the Crows that even the places I was sent to, I did not truly experience.  And then, meeting Shale and thinking about standing in a village for thirty years…well, Crows typically have short lives, and I realized that I haven’t been living up to my potential.

“I was thinking…after this is over…I might go see the sights.  The Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, the Grand Necropolis in Nevarra, the infamous fog of Seheron, the voluptuous women of Rivain…”  Revan snorted at the last one, a good sign.  He continued, “So, what do you think?”

He could practically see the tension leave her shoulders.  “I think that sounds wonderful.”  A pregnant pause.  “I will miss you, you know.”

“You could always come with me.”  He said it hopefully, but in truth he knew better.

She gave him a sad smile.  “Maybe.  But my duties as a Grey Warden will take precedence.  And I shall be trying to find a way home.  But if I could, I would.  It sounds like quite an adventure.”

“Well, hopefully a less exciting adventure than this one,” Zevran remarked.  “I think I could do without the urgency and constant threat of death looming over us all.”

“You live for death,” she countered.

“Ah, perhaps,” he shrugged.  It was almost eerie how quickly they had fallen back into their old banter.

“Oh!  I almost forgot!  I have something for you,” Revan grabbed his hand, her eye twinkling in the twilight, and led him back to the Chantry. 

She made him wait in the pews as she fetched her pack, with his eyes closed.  He pursed his lips skeptically when she commanded him, but he did as she bid.  Despite it all, he was powerless against her whims.  He felt her footsteps as she returned, and the creaking of the pew as she sat next to him.  The smell, however, gave it away before she even told him to open his eyes.

“Hmmm…” he reveled in the scent as he opened his eyes.  Revan held a pair of boots, a delighted smile playing across her face.  “That smell…this is Antivan leather, isn’t it?  I would know that anywhere!”  He took the proffered boots happily and chuckled.  _How unexpected_.  “I don’t know how you found these, but thank you, Revan.”

“What are you waiting for?” she teased him, her smile becoming infectious.  “Try them on!”

“But I’m not finished admiring them yet!” he joked, sternly dismissing the dozen flirtatious comments he could make.  It was not the time.  “Can you smell that?  Like rotting flesh.  Just like back in Antiva City.  Now if you could only find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder, and a corrupt politician, I’d really feel like I was home!” 

“When we get back to Denerim, I am sure that can be arranged,” she said wickedly.

The boots were of fine make.  Almost as fine as the boots he had mentioned to Revan back in Redcliffe, the ones he regretted not buying before leaving what seemed a lifetime ago.  It was not coincidence she had found something like this, and it made him wonder how she had remembered something so small, so seemingly insignificant.  No one had ever cared that much about what he said.  He tugged off his current boots and slipped his feet into the Antivan ones.  He stood, wiggled his toes, and tested his weight in them.

“Ha!  And they fit as well!  Marvelous!”  He met Revan’s eye, delighted to see him so happy, and had to catch himself from doing something untoward.  It was so hard to not to feel as he did when she kept surprising him like this.

“I remembered what you said about those boots back in Antiva,” she confirmed, “and I also wanted to apologize.  Again.  I have not been a good friend of late.  I promise, I will make it up to you.”

“Neither have I,” he put on a brave face.  She could not know the truth.  “There was no need to apologize.  I have already forgiven you.”

And suddenly, she jumped up and hugged him.  He was overwhelmed by her scent, the softness of her hair, the warmth of her skin.  He stood completely still for a second, shocked, before his brain finally registered what was happening.  He hugged her back, careful to not cling to her.

“Thank you for being my friend, Zevran,” she whispered in his ear.

Then she pulled away, and he was left with only the lingering warmth of her breath and the fading scent of cherries.

* * *

 

_Revan_

The hike to the temple was longer than Revan would have liked.  Alas, she had made a promise to Brother Genitivi to see him to the temple, so she served as his crutch as he hobbled on his one good leg up the slope.  They had to stop often for him, but he refused to be carried by Sten or Shale.  But, finally, they made it to the icy cave that sheltered the entrance and the mysterious metal door that hid the temple beyond.  Revan approached it and admired its intricate carvings.  It was not elven, nor Ferelden.  In fact, it bore most resemblance to the ancient Tevinter architecture she had encountered in the Brecilian Forest.  And yet, even then, it was different.  But perhaps it was the ice that seemed to encase everything.

“Ah, here we are,” the brother stood admiring it as well before pulling out the amulet that Leliana had retrieved from the corpse of Eirik.  “Let’s see if I remember.”

He placed the amulet in a cleverly hidden notch and began twisting it in a complicated series of turns.  “Yes…you see, it can be manipulated, just like this…”  The lock clicked, and the doors creaked apart.  “And there…a key to open the way.”

“I wonder who created that,” Revan pondered the ingenuity of the design.  Perhaps these people were not as primitive as she had originally believed.

“It may have been passed down through the generations from the first people who build the temple.  Now…where does this go?”

The doors parted to reveal a massive great hall, whose ceiling extended far above them.  Ice coated most of the exposed surfaces, and giant icicles hung threateningly above them.  The roof was broken in places, allowing intermittent beams of sunlight to enter, and snow drifts congregated against the walls.  It was an impressive structure, despite the state of its disrepair.  Tevinter statues stood silent watch, and the few places where the ice had not obscured the stone underneath were carved with curious designs.  A grand staircase led up to several more stories.  It was strangely reminiscent of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; large and imposing and strangely reverent.  It felt that her very presence here was tolerated only to the extent that she respected the place’s power.

Brother Genitivi seemed even more impressed.  “What I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendor, as it was meant to be…”

Revan noticed that Wynne and Leliana were equally enthralled with the beauty of the place.  She cleared her throat.  “Brother, I need not remind you that there are still dangers here.”

“I’m sorry…what?” the scholar shook his head to clear it.  “I was a little distracted.  I apologize.  These carvings were created just after Andraste’s death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know… I think I need more time to study these statues and carvings.”

“Are you sure you wish to remain here?” Revan asked with concern.

Sadly, Brother Genitivi responded, “I could not keep up with you with my injuries.  I should be safe; I don’t think there are any villagers here.  Go.  I will be all right.  Perhaps my destiny was only to lead you to the Urn.”

Revan pulled one of her spare daggers from her leathers and handed it to the brother, pommel first.  “Thank you.  You have been a great help.”

He took the dagger hesitantly.  “Bah, it’s my job.  Just be careful, that’s all I ask.  The temple is…perilous.  I’ll be right here if you need me.”

She gestured for the others to follow her lead.  The hall was lined with elegant columns that had been chipped away by the many years of neglect and abuse from the cold.  A large bonfire blazed in the center of the hall, made of decaying wood and rotting corpses.  Before the grand staircase were several side passages that were cut off either by impenetrable snow drifts or collapsed rubble.  Dead adventurers lay frozen where they had fallen, their ancient features preserved by the frost.  They encountered their first cultists holed up in a room in the west wing.  They were just peasants, unarmed and unarmored, but their eyes burned with the same bloodlust that the others had displayed.  They rushed at Revan’s group with murderous intent, wailing on them with whatever weapons they could grab as Revan innocuously opened the door.  Sten, ever by her side, drew his large sword and drew the ire of the villagers.  Zevran squeezed past him and began slashing throats.  Leliana behind them sent volleys over their heads, and with uncanny precision hit the cultists on their heads.  Wynne was equally as deadly, managing to freeze or petrify those she set her eyes on.  Revan barely had time to draw her own blades and cut down the cultists in front of her before they had all been slain.  Shale stood in the back, not being able to fit through the smaller door frame.  Shaking her head sadly, Revan stepped over the bodies and examined the room.  It seems they had been congregating here to perhaps pray, but more likely to protect something.  She examined the furniture only to discover an odd taper laying on a table next to a stack of books written in a tongue that was unfamiliar to her.  She took it, then had the bodies piled together so they could be burned.  There were soon to be enough dead in this temple.

The wing opposite proved to be locked, and not even Zevran or Leliana, with all their experience, could pick the mechanism.  Down the hall, there was a room that held a plethora of books and scrolls, but the villagers obviously had little reverence for the texts as many were being burned and more were littered haphazardly on the ground.  Revan put out the fires with a cry of despair, and Wynne had to remind her that they did not have time to examine the tomes that the room contained.  She hung her head sadly, but conceded the point.  Ultimately, as they explored the snowy passages, Revan decided she did not like the feeling that the place gave her.  She could not see past the thick stone walls, even with her second sight, so she felt wholly unprepared.  But, given that the others were looking to her to lead them, she put on a brave face and led the way, unsure what to really expect.

Obviously, the cries of the villagers from the other wing had aroused the other cultists from their prostrations, and as they exited the eastern wing they were met by better equipped villagers preparing for them on the staircase.  Revan, having been expecting such a response, already had her lightsabers in hand and ignited them on sight.  The cultists launched a volley of arrows towards them, but Revan was a whirlwind and cut most of them in midflight before they reached their targets.  Those she did not stop were easily avoided by her companions.  As Wynne and Leliana took positions near the fire and began targeting the enemies at the top of the stairs, Revan, Sten, Zevran, and Shale all rushed up to meet the others.  The golem barged its way through the attackers, staggering them and leaving them exposed to Zevran’s blades in their backs.  Sten rushed the largest of the warriors, his fearsome visage and menacing warcry intimidating them into taking a misstep.  Revan took easy advantage of their smallest mistakes, her blades slicing cleanly through their pitiful armor.  She only had to be aware of the enemies around her, as they were vastly outnumbered by the cultists, and a lack of awareness on her part could mean grave injury. 

Soon, they had been dispatched, but Revan sensed that this was far from over.  She was certain that more lurked nearby, and as she experimentally tried the door to the western wing they were immediately met with more villagers.  Leliana took aim at the archers down the hall, but was interrupted as a door in the middle of the hallway was burst open from the inside.  A large creature – a bronto, Revan remembered from her time in the Deep Roads – charged forth, and, eyeing them, stampeded towards them.  Brontos, she remembered, were dangerous when enraged, as this one clearly was.  A few tons of muscle and horns and hide, it was difficult to cut and even more difficult to avoid being impaled.  However, she had learned a few tricks all those years ago.  Trusting her leather’s integrity, she rushed the bull as it charged toward her, and as it lowered its horns in preparation for the clash, she vaulted off of them and onto its back.  Shale stepped in front of the party and tried to grapple the beast down, but Revan, now firmly on its back, stabbed her blades in one of its few weak places: the joint of its elbow.  As her searing blades pierced the flesh on either side, it reared up, exposing the soft area of its joints.  Zevran, quick on the uptake, sprinted unafraid under the weight of the massive beast and stabbed it in the chest and in its joints, the quick succession of hits causing the bronto to lose too much blood to continue its rampage.  He rolled to the side as the bronto woozily came down, and then fell to its side.  Revan gracefully jumped off before it thudded to the ground.  Sten mercifully cut its throat with a powerful swing once it was down while the archers down the hall were swiftly dealt with by a barrage of countering arrows and spells.  But, there was no time to relax.  She could sense the reavers waiting for them around the corner, and after issuing a terse warning went to meet them.

There were a vast number of cultists in this section of the temple.  Though their bloodlust made them stronger, it did not make them smarter, and Revan was able to dodge the attacks that would have easily taken off her head.  As she avoided their heavy swings, she stabbed into the weakest points of their armor, relying on her speed and accuracy to dispatch her enemies rather than on defense.  Part of her realized, in the midst of the battle, that the reavers would be significantly more deadly if they had been equipped with the blasters she was used to.  As it was, as long as she avoided an arrow to her chest or head, she stood a good chance of surviving any ranged attack.  And her companions did not have to rely as much on cover this way, as arrows were easy to intercept or avoid.  It took a truly masterful archer, such as Leliana, to pose a true threat to her or her own.

The room the cultists had poured out of seemed to be a shoddy barracks of sorts.  Revan looked at the accommodations with slight disdain before leaving.  The next rooms were private, as if for the officers or leaders, but the occupants were quickly dispatched by the party.  Revan was alarmed to learn that there were more mages here, but honestly she was not too surprised.  This place was so isolated from the rest of the world that there would never have been Templars or Circle magi.  She dimly wondered what the Templar Cullen would think of such a place.  Surely he would have had a heart attack from the mere thought of mages running wild, even if they did supposedly worship Andraste.  At the end of the hallway was a room that seemed to serve as a devotional room, where more unarmed peasants were praying on pews before a mage that seemed to be a priest.  The villagers instantly rose from their worships to attack them, but Revan’s attention was focused on the mage.  As he raised his staff to cast a spell, she slammed him into the wall behind him with the Force, breaking his concentration.  She leaped across the altar, planting her feet and her blades in his chest before he could regain his focus, and did a back leap off of him so his corpse fell to the floor.  Her companions behind her easily dispatched the villagers as she dealt with the mage.  The battle was over almost as quickly as it had started.  She wiped the sweat and blood off her brow as Wynne, tired, took a seat on one of the few clean pews.  Leliana began looking around, and, finding a sermon by an old Divine, flipped through the dusty pages.  Sten took out a water skein and took a swig before passing it to the others.  A door stood nearby, and out of curiosity Revan opened it to reveal what appeared to be a storage room.  Upon exploration, she found an oddly perfect black pearl and a key she suspected opened the south-east wing.  When she showed the pearl to her companions, Wynne remarked that old Tevinter mages believed that those who held a flawless black pearl in their mouths upon death would not have their souls pass through the Veil.

When they had caught their breaths, they returned to the south-east wing, though they were first accosted by another wave of reavers trying to prevent them from making more headway into the temple.  Revan felt slightly guilty about intruding in their holy sanctum, but their unapologetic demeanor and insatiable bloodlust made it bearable.  The reavers, in all honesty, stood no chance against their well-trained party, especially given their synchronized tactics.  They fought their way back to the locked room, which in turn presented Revan with another key, much to her chagrin.  With a sigh, she led the party back up the stairs, past the bodies, and through a small archway that led to a locked door.  Shale had to stoop to pass through, but the golem managed.  The door turned out to lead to yet another grand hall, but this one was smaller, its ceiling lower and its columns more intricate.  It was not nearly as despoiled as the lower levels.  However, a mage stood at the top of another flight of stairs, looking down on them.  With an evil grin, he raised his arms.  The dust on the ground began to swirl, and from the dust arose several spirits, similar to those that she and Zevran had encountered in Honnleath: ash wraiths.  Revan went for the mage, though she detested having to fight upwards.  It was a severe tactical hamper.  So, she stalled the mage as much as she could, knocking him backwards with the Force and sprinting up the stairs before he recovered.  Unfortunately, this mage was more agile, and managed to regain his footing before she could reach him.  He flung bolts of electrical energy at her, which she countered by raising a Force shield.  Despite all her practice with magic drawn from the Fade, the Force was easier for her to manipulate.  She concentrated on maintaining the shield as her body entered its well-known pattern of combat, something she had to barely think about against enemies not trained in combat.  The mage, realizing that she knew both magic and swordplay, quickly fell back, but the space on the platform was limited and he backed himself into a wall.  Revan made short work of him.  As she had hoped, the ash wraiths had meanwhile gone for her more intimidating companions, and the wraiths were dispatched by Zevran’s hidden blades almost before they had even had time to strike either Shale or Sten.

Once the battle was over, Revan was afforded the opportunity to examine the room.  The only things of apparent note were the icy brazier in the center of the platform and the magical barrier that denied them access to the rest of the temple.  Something about the brazier, however, was off.  Revan approached it for closer examination.  It appeared that only the metal was icy; the wood was fresh, as if it had just been chopped.  With a frown, Revan dropped the black pearl in the center of the wood and held the taper to the kindling.  The fire lit immediately, and with a magical splitting noise, the magic of the barrier was released.  The others followed her as she cautiously opened the door, only to reveal an ambush.  Archers stood in a row facing them, and the area before them she suspected was littered with hidden traps, especially given that there were two ballistae aimed at the center.  Revan did not like traps.  As Leliana and Wynne took aim at the archers, Revan gestured for the others to go behind the ballistae and flank the enemy.  Though they were slow in their armor, Wynne and Leliana harried the archers enough that they could not take aim at the slower fighters.  Revan and Zevran were the first to reach the archers, and quickly began cutting them down from behind until Sten and Shale arrived to clear the rest.  Their enemies slain, Leliana escorted the elder mage through the maze of traps to the other side.  The door to the next room, however, only yielded another ash wraith that had lain in wait for intruders.  As they attacked it, their shouts and battle cries alerted yet more cultists to their presence.  Revan had to wonder how so many of them had survived in the harsh terrain of the mountains.  The party inevitably slew them all, and Revan led them down one of the side passages.  They had to battle for every inch, but slowly the hallways began leading down, as if going under the temple.  They finally came to a room, where the only thing that remained was a statue on a pedestal that sat in the center of the room.

“This is Maferath, husband of Andraste and her betrayer,” Zevran commented as he examined the statue.  The entire party turned to look at him in shock.  “What? I went to the chantry as a child.”

Revan sighed and shook her head, but pressed through the door.  They were met by more cultists, but as they progressed the architecture of Tevinter ended, and instead they found themselves progressing through a series of caverns and tunnels.  Cruel stalactites were suspended menacingly from the roof of the caverns, and stalagmites rose from the floor to meet them.  The caves were damp, but there was something else, something familiar, that tinged the air.  As they entered a cavern and were confronted with more cultists, she finally figured out what it was: dragons.  The cultists had allied themselves with a brood, and the young dragonlings, the adolescent ones that had barely hatched, screamed at her in uncommunicable fury before charging her with their slender bodies.  She silently swore to herself; the last thing she needed was to have to face a nest.  A cavern to the east confirmed her suspicions: there were cages of animals - pigs and goats and sheep - that stood in fear and in the remains of their herd that had been fed to the dragons.  Revan, upon walking in and seeing the scene, turned to leave but was stopped by the unmistakable hiss of a drake.  She screamed at her companions to duck, just as the fiery spit of one singed the air above her head.  She sheathed her lightsabers; they would be no use against the fire-hardened scales of the drakes.  Instead, she unsheathed her dragonbone sword and her poisoned sword, and deftly stabbed at the beast behind her.  She felt one of her blades solidly connect, but the other hit a scale and bounced off.  The drake shrieked in pain and tried to swipe at her.  She rolled to the side.  The others were moving around the side of the drake that had attacked her, but two more appeared from the shadows.  She danced around the first’s snapping jaws until she positioned herself just right to slam her sword through its head.  She felt the crunch of breaking bone as it entered its skull, and it shuddered, dead.  She tugged out the blade and rushed to assist Shale, who had decided to take one on alone.  Sten and Zevran were surrounding the other, assisted by Leliana’s arrows, though how effective the wooden shafts were against the drakes’ armored scales was debatable.  Shale was throwing punch after punch at the drake, but the drake’s nimble neck allowed it to dodge the rocky fists well.  However, its bobbing and weaving distracted it from Revan’s approach, and she was able to jump onto its back and, finding the weak point where the scales interlocked, drove her swords through the scales and into the drake’s back.  It reached around, trying to twist its head in order to snap at her, but leaving it exposed to Shale’s attacks.  The golem grabbed its neck and, squeezing its fist shut, crushed the drake’s neck.  Revan leapt off, ready to charge the other drake, but the others had managed to take it down without her.  The others were shaken at the presence of the dragons, but, having seen the famed Dragonheart easily take down two drakes, they did not falter.  Revan assured them that they would be able to deal with the brood, and continued in the direction that the caverns took them.

Soon, they came to a crossroads.  One path led straight, while the other turned directly west.  Revan had a bad feeling about both, so she continued straight, only to be confronted by a mage that seemed as well dressed as Eirik had been; perhaps another Father, or some other leader of the cultists.  Revan charged to confront him, but was stopped in her tracks by the appearance of four drakes.  Her limbs were starting to grow weary.  She barked for Leliana and Wynne to concentrate on the enemy mage, knowing that the arrows and magic would be wasted on the drakes, and directed Zevran to help Shale with one pair while she and Sten assaulted the other.  The looming Qunari followed her lead, drawing the drakes’ irk while she hassled their flanks.  Sten, luckily quite agile for his size, quickly realized her tactics, and began dancing around the drakes, making them step over themselves as they tried to snap at him and tear at his armor.  Whenever one tried to breathe fire upon him, Revan raised a shield around him, though this made her more vulnerable.  The drakes took advantage, getting a few good slashes in before Revan managed to skewer one’s foot.  Luckily, her armor was enchanted and the leather healed almost immediately, but the same could not be said of her flesh.  She ground her teeth and focused on finding the drakes’ weak point, and eventually managed to distract one long enough for Sten to carve a path through the air – and through the drake’s neck.  As its head fell to the ground, its partner hissed at them in indignation, only to be speared through the roof of its mouth by Revan’s opportunistic strike.  At the same time, Zevran got a lucky strike as he slid underneath the last of their pair, and the entrails of the last drake fell to the floor, along with the body they had dropped from.  Wynne’s magic had proven to be stronger than the other mage’s, and soon the chamber had been cleared.  Revan followed her intuition to a back room, and stopped cold.  The room contained what looked to be a mage’s laboratory, but every available surface was covered with large, soft pink dragon eggs.  She warned her companions not to touch the eggs; the brood did not take kindly to outsiders in the nest.  And they had yet to find the mother.

Retracing their steps, Revan led them down the path she had neglected, only to finally come to a large icy chamber filled with more cultists.  But this time, they did not immediately attack.  They stood, anger filling their eyes, as one in far superior armor took point against them.  He had not drawn his weapon.  Yet.  Revan sheathed her own at the sight of him, expecting some form of parlay.  Her companions followed suit, though she could sense that they too were uneasy with this sudden shift in demeanor from the otherwise frenzied cultists.

“Stop!” the man approaching her commanded.  “You will go no further.”

Revan crossed her arms, taking a relaxed, unintimidated posture.  “Oh?  Really?”

“You have defiled our temple,” the man spat.  “You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young.  No more.  You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this.  Why have you come here?”

Revan tried to control her facial expressions.  To an extent, he was correct.  They had killed many that maybe could have been spared.  “I have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.  I have killed your people because you have killed mine.”

“You did this all for an ancient relic?” he asked incredulously.  Revan herself could scarcely believe it either.  Maybe Sten had been right.  “Know this, stranger.  The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!  Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now.  What hope do you have?”

Revan shrugged, “I have a surprising tendency to do the impossible.  But what has happened to the Ashes?”

“They are still within this temple, but why do we need ashes when we serve the risen Andraste in all Her glory?”

It occurred to Revan that they must have been deluded into believing the high dragon that had mothered the brood was the risen Andraste.  Unfortunately for them, having killed a high dragon before, Revan knew better.

“So it would not bother you if we just went on our way and retrieved the Urn?” she asked sweetly.

“Hmmm…” the warrior thought.  “Perhaps, if you are after the Ashes, there is a way for you to make up for your desecration of our home and temple.”

“And why would you suddenly want to cooperate with me?” she asked skeptically.

“It may be because I believe in second chances.  All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light,” the man spoke, seemingly to her soul.  But this man was not her redemption.  “Perhaps through Andraste’s mercy, Her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion.”

“And how would I do that?” she said, entertaining the idea.  After all, her entire quest was a second chance to do the right thing, to fix her mistake…

“Allow me to introduce myself: I am Father Kolgrim.  I lead the Disciples of Andraste,” the man gave her a flourished half bow.  “The Ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady.  Now the Ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form.  They are a remnant of Her past incarnation, and She cannot move on as long as they exist.”

Revan almost laughed from the absurdity of it.  She wondered how it was that a high dragon had been bound by the relic.  “So…what?  You want me to toss them out a window?”

“I speak not of destruction,” the Father said hastily.  “The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them Her own again.  All it would take is a drop of Her blood.  Blood carries power, strength, knowledge.  Through it, all the power that is held in the Ashes will be returned to our Lady.”

Suddenly it made sense.  The bloodlust she had seen in the cultists was the result of some form of blood magic, most likely involving dragon blood.  How curious.

“So why have you not done this then?” she continued questioning him, silently motioning for her companions to start spreading out.

“The Guardian has foiled all our attempts to reach the Urn.  He keeps what power remains from the true Andraste.  He knows the Disciples, and we cannot touch him, for he draws his strength from the Ashes themselves.  But you could deliver our Lady what is rightfully hers.”

Wynne, having missed her subtle signals, interjected, “There is nothing but madness in his words.  He is a fanatic, and a dangerous one.  Be warned – he means to lead you astray.”

“The rewards for performing such a service would be great indeed,” Kolgrim tried to entice her.

“You know, I do not exactly like the idea of encouraging the worship of a large lizard,” Revan considered sarcastically.

The Father looked appalled.  “You will not help us?  Then we cannot allow you to leave here.  To arms, my brethren!  Andraste will grant us victory!”

As the Father drew his weapon, Revan reached out with the Force and flung him backwards with as much power as she could muster.  The others paused in fear, giving her companions enough time to rush them all and get inside their guards before they could react appropriately.  Revan, however, went for the most offending figure.  Kolgrim tried rising, but Revan flung him back down with the Force.  She lifted him again, and brought him back down.  And again.  She heard a crack, and the next time she lifted him she realized that his body was hanging limply.  She had broken his back.  Odd.  She had been keeping her temper under control, trying to mitigate it; usually she only could summon this much power when she drew on her rage and on the Dark Side.  And yet, she had been able to use her power while still remaining in control.  The only thing she had felt was the certainty that Kolgrim had needed to die, and the slight distress his words had had on her.  _Second chances_ …

She stood, staring at the Father’s body, as the others killed the last of the cultists.  Revan had not even drawn her blades.  She felt Sten approach her from behind.  The giant laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Are you all right, _kadan_?” he asked, concerned.  She laid a hand on top of his in wordless assurance that she was, and turned to face the others.

“Outside resides a high dragon,” she announced.  She knew it, now that everything else was dead.  She could feel the great beast’s presence now, almost as assuredly as it could feel hers.  “It will most certainly attack me on sight.”

“We can’t just sneak around it?” Zevran squeaked, not eager to confront one of the legendary beasts.  Revan could not blame him.

“Unfortunately, the dragon can sense me, and it finds my presence offensive,” she admitted.  “At the very least, I will need to face it.”

“You mean _we_ will face it,” Wynne said, speaking for the rest of them.  Revan gave her a thankful smile.

“Yes.  But I have faced a high dragon before.  They can be slain.  It will be difficult,” she paused, “and I cannot guarantee everyone’s safety.  But if you follow my instructions, we will defeat it.” 

She looked at each of them in turn.  They acknowledged her leadership, and she launched into her outline of the plan.  It was simple enough.  They would assume essentially the same roles that they had taken in previous combat: Leliana and Wynne would remain at a distance, with Leliana aiming her arrows at the high dragon’s eyes, throat, underbelly, and wings.  Wynne would use her spells to shield others from the beast’s fiery breath and to try to keep it on the ground, whether by freezing or petrifying its feet or by keeping it just off balance enough for it to not be able to launch its body upwards.  Shale and Sten would stay on either side of it, careful to avoid its deadly claws, powerful wings, or dexterous tail, while keeping it distracted and taking advantage of any weakness to strike its joints or exposed underside.  Revan meanwhile, would stay in front of it, keeping its attention on her since she could shield herself from its flames and just so happened to be the enemy any high dragon cared about the most.  She would look for an opening to strike.

Then she turned to Zevran.  “And you, Zev…you get the fun part.”

* * *

 

_Zevran_

Today was not going how he had envisioned it.  Not.  At.  All.

And it had started with the bloody high dragon.

“Not fun!  _Not fun at all!_ ” he screamed down at Revan, who was watching, powerless to help him, as he clung on for dear life.

Because his part had been to climb _on top_ of the high dragon as the others distracted it and to incapacitate its wings before going for its head.  The thing was, the high dragon had been even larger than Revan had anticipated, and he had watched her scars blanch as the gigantic beast had launched itself directly at the Jedi, just as she had predicted.  Zevran, of course, did his part dutifully, and as the others got into position he had drawn his daggers and, plunging them into the cracks between the dragon’s massive, beautiful scales, began climbing the beast’s hindquarters, the least likely place he would be attacked.  He had made it onto its back before slowly inching his way forward to its shoulder blades, careful to avoid the sharp spikes that adorned the ridge of its back.  He eventually made it to the hollow between its wings and, taking a deep breath, started sawing at the joint of one of its wings.  He knew that if he tore apart enough of the ligaments, the dragon would not be able to use its wing, and it would have one less weapon against them.

He just hadn’t expected it to launch in the air to try to dislodge him.

So, daggers firmly in the beast’s back and hands gripping for dear life, Zevran cursed his lot as the dragon did barrel rolls hundreds of feet in the air to buck him off.  Zevran forced himself to not look down and to focus.  Volley after volley of arrows were piercing its wings, but even tearing the membranes of the enormous wings wasn’t enough to send it to the ground.  Zevran almost didn’t want it to crash into the ground, not with him on top of it.  But it seemed better than the current alternative of just him going careening to the ground.  Didn’t Revan say she had survived falling with a high dragon?  Maker, he hoped so, or he was a dead man.

With a strength greater than he knew he had, he ripped out one of his safety lines and began cutting away at the joint again. Perhaps he could get it to do a controlled dive.  A soft crash.  One that didn’t involve him dying.  He felt one ligament snap, then another, then some more, and suddenly the wind was screaming in his ear as they lost altitude.  The dragon began beating its remaining wing to try and slow its descent, but it only served to cause them to circle.  Luckily, the membrane of the broken wing was intact enough that the air caught underneath it seemed to give them some lift, until…

“ _Leliana!_   _Stop shooting it!_ ”  Zevran tried screaming at the bard, who was still aiming her arrows at the dragon.

Revan seemed to understand what he was wildly (and perhaps profanely) gesturing, and quickly got the girl to hold her aim.  He saw her realize what was happening, and raise her hands as if she were casting magic.  He saw Wynne raising her staff to do the same.  Suddenly, the air whooshing past his ears seemed to get quieter, and he realized that they were creating more wind beneath them to slow the descent.  It was working, too.  Their faces were coming into focus much less quickly now.  He plunged the dagger back into the thing’s back and desperately hung on, waiting for impact.  But when it came, despite his preparations, he was flung careening to the side as the dragon landed heavily on the side of its broken wing.  He landed with a thump and several cracks, and continued to roll from the momentum of the crash, until he was a good hundred feet or so away from the giant.  The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he lay there, completely helpless, as his vision and breath returned to him.

What he saw from his position laying prone was almost miraculous.  In its moment of greatest weakness, Revan had leapt with almost superhuman strength to cross the distance between her and the dragon, landing squarely on its chest.  She plunged a blade in and, as the beast tried to rise, dragged the blade up its neck as she vaulted onto its back and onto the top of its head.  Blood spurted from the long gash.  She slammed her other sword through one of its eyes, and as it screamed in fury and pain, she swung from the sword in its eye to land a blow on its jaw with her feet before thrusting her free blade through the roof of its mouth and into its brain.  The high dragon gushed a last, defiant spurt of flame and molten vomit before its head wobbled and crashed to the ground.  Revan pulled her sword free and somersaulted away.  And immediately, she rushed to his side.

“Zevran!  Shit, are you all right?” she knelt next to him, turning him onto his back.  Her eye shown with genuine worry.

He coughed.  Many somethings hurt.  “I am alive, so there’s that,” he said weakly.

The others, having taken a moment to realize that the high dragon that had been parading itself as Andraste reborn was truly dead, finally came to check on him.  Wynne, looking even more weary than usual, slowly made her way over to his side.  Revan, meanwhile, asked him where he hurt the most, and he pointed to several spots on his chest.  Revan waved everyone besides Wynne away and ordered them to look for any healing herbs they could identify.  With a wink, she said she didn’t want them getting any ideas when she removed his armor, which illicit a painful laugh from Zevran and an exasperated eye roll from Wynne.  The Jedi deftly undid the straps of his armor, and as she gently propped him up by the less tender spots on his back, Wynne pulled off his leather chest piece.  Immediately, he felt the pressure on his chest lessen, and he took as deep a breath as he could manage without aggravating the wounds.  Revan removed his shirt and laid him back down so Wynne could properly diagnose his injuries, which, with much painful poking and prodding and Wynne’s stern suggestions to keep quiet and not comment on the position of her hands, she determined to be four cracked ribs.

“You’re lucky it’s not a punctured lung,” Wynne reminded him when he expressed his frustration.

As Wynne went to retrieve her medical supplies to mix a poultice to help the broken bones heal, Revan looked at him guiltily.

“I am so sorry.  I should never have asked you to do something that dangerous,” she hung her head.  “I thought I could keep its attention long enough.”

He took her hand and squeezed it.  “As long as you give me credit for slaying it, I think we can call it even.”

“Zevran!  You could have died!” she cried.

“But I didn’t,” he pointed out.  “And honestly, I might be the first person to ride a dragon since they disappeared.  That will more than pay for itself in wine and women, trust me.”

She looked to see if he was joking, and realizing that he was truly okay, squeezed his hand back.  When Wynne returned, she squeezed it again and excused herself, saying she needed to check on the others to make sure they had not been injured.  But not before Zevran spotted a patch of the leather of her magical armor that was just slightly scorched.

Wynne clucked her tongue at him as she applied the poultice and bandages.  “I thought you would have stopped staring at her like that after she talked with you.”

Zevran grimaced.  “She didn’t get to talk to me about…that.  I overheard you two gabbing.  I told her I was moody because I wanted to see the world before I died.”

The mage looked properly mortified.  “I didn’t realize…”

“You had a point,” Zevran admitted.  “She doesn’t need the distraction.  Doesn’t mean I can’t look, though.”

“That’s not what I said,” she wrapped a cloth around his chest.

“But it is what you meant.”

The mage bit her lip, considering.  “As long as you know that she cannot be with you.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Wynne,” he said dryly.

The mage finished her administrations, and Zevran gently tugged on his shirt and strapped his chest plate to his pack.  He wouldn’t be able to wear it for a time anyway.  Slowly, he made his way onto his feet and wobbled weakly to the others.  Revan was stitching up a nasty gash on Sten’s shoulder where the dragon had swiped him, but she promised him with proper application of a salve his shoulder would be usable in days.  In the meantime, he would have to be cautious when swinging his sword.  Leliana had gotten away with some minor burns, which she was applying a cream to, and Shale was patiently waiting for Revan to finish with the Qunari so she could remove the broken crystals from the golem’s back.  Zevran took the opportunity to rest, something that had been questionably lacking that day.  Leliana commented on his bravery, which he promptly ruined with a comment about a just reward for his bravery, but even the Qunari giant seemed slightly impressed at his antics on the dragon.  It was only once the Jedi had removed Shale’s damaged crystals that they were all allowed to relax.

Zevran poked the scorched patch of her armor and joked, “It’s unfair that you got to kill it and got away with only a slight burn.  And here I am, getting thrown a few hundred feet and breaking all my bones.”

She flinched at the poke.  Suddenly he became suspicious.

“Revan…did you get burned?”

“I have not checked,” she acknowledged.  “And I heal faster than most.  I will be fine.”

His eyes narrowed, and without another word grabbed what remained of the salve that Leliana had used and tossed it to Revan.  She mumbled under her breath, but took a glob and, reaching under her armor, tenderly applied it to most of her side.

They rested for a few hours, exhausted from their journey up the mountain.  But, Leliana and Wynne were eager to get to the Urn of Sacred Ashes, seeing as they were now so close to their goal.  Zevran honestly could not blame them.  He was curious to see if Revan’s desperate gamble to save the Arl of Redcliffe had paid off.  Part of him was interested to see how Sten would react if it turned out it was all for naught.  Part of him hoped that it wouldn’t be the case, because he didn’t want to see how Revan would react.

They slowly made their way through the mountain pass to another temple.  This one, however, seemed different.  This one wasn’t crumbling into ruin like the one the cultists had inhabited.  In fact, it seemed almost as if a part of the mountains themselves.  Inside, they were greeted by flames that appeared as they entered, and Zevran couldn’t help but think of the possible treasure that could await inside.  Or the potential profits from opening this site up to tourists.  As they rounded a corner, they were met by a ghostly apparition who guarded the door to the Ashes.  He was dressed in old armor, and Zevran felt the spirit’s piercing eyes upon him.  It was a violating feeling.

Having looked them over, the ghost spoke, “I bid you welcome, pilgrims.”

Revan, having taken the lead like usual, approached him first.  “You must be the Guardian.”

“Yes, I am the Guardian of the Ashes,” the apparition conceded.  “I have waited years for this.”

Revan hesitated.  “For us?”

“You are the first to arrive in a very long time.  It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste.”

The Jedi considered him.  “Will your task ever be done, then?”

“I do not know, and I do not question,” the Guardian answered.

“In that case, what must we do to see the Urn?” she prompted.

The Guardian regarded her and the rest of them.  “You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourselves worthy.”

“We need the Ashes to cure a good man,” Revan explained.

“Still, you must prove yourselves worthy.  It is not my place to decide your worthiness.  The Gauntlet does that,” the Guardian explained.  “If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself.  If not…” the spirit let the thought hang in the air.

“Very well.  Let us begin then,” Revan said confidently.

“Before you go,” the Guardian stopped her before she took a step forward, “there is something I must ask.  I see the path that led you here was…full of death.  Death by your hand.  I see the wounds you have opened in the very fabric of reality from the suffering you have caused.  How could you claim to be an agent of the Light and to even dare ask to be worthy after doing so many heinous things?  Should you not have died instead, by Malak’s hand or by the Grey Wardens’?”

Revan’s shoulders slumped, and her head hung in shame.  Finally, she answered, “I would never claim such lofty titles as being of the Light, nor to be good or worthy.  I know what I have done, Guardian, and every day I regret.  I would never profane the Ashes with my touch.  My duty here is merely to lead others, and to hope that one day, I may redeem myself by saving more than I have killed.  Would you allow me that much?  To try to make amends and right my wrongs?”

“Your path will lead to more death,” the Guardian warned her, almost fearful of her, “but there will come a time when you will be able to choose the fate of all.  Your choice may save countless billions of lives, or it may destroy everything.  Only you can make that choice.  I pray to the Maker that you make the right one.  And what of the others that travel with you?”

With those harrowing words, Wynne stepped forward.  “Ask your question, Guardian.  I am ready.”

“You are ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom.  Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past?  Perhaps you are only a tool used to spread the word of the Circle and the Chantry.  Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?”

“You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers,” Wynne accused him.  “There is no sense in hiding, is there?  Yes.  I do doubt at times.  Only the fool is completely certain of himself.”

The Guardian then turned his visage to Leliana.  “And you…why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left?  He spoke only to Andraste.  Do you believe yourself Her equal?”

“I never said that!” she cowered under his gaze.  “I –”

“In Orlais,” the spirit interrupted her, “you were someone.  In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear.  When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it.  It made you special.  You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative.”

“You’re saying I made it up, for…for the attention?” she asked indignantly, defensive.  “I did not!  I know what I believe!”

“Shale, the stone giant…” the Guardian looked for a long moment at the golem.  “…there is so little I can draw from you.  I feel the distant echo of a soul, dormant for so long, now awake…”

“Good for you,” the golem mocked him sarcastically.

“And with the awakening, the slow realization of all you have lost,” the Guardian continued.  “Ah, Shale…your entire existence is a test of your will and courage.  You have my respect.”

The Guardian turned to face Sten.  The Qunari met his gaze coolly and challenged, “Demand whatever answers you want, spirit.”

“You came to this land as an observer, but you killed a family in a blind rage.  Have you failed your people, by allowing a Qunari to be seen in that light?”

Calmly, perhaps inspired by Revan’s on admission, Sten responded, “I have never denied that I failed.”

And lastly, the Guardian’s piercing eyes fell on Zevran.  “And the Antivan elf…”

“Oh, is it my turn now?” Zevran jested unenthusiastically.  “Hurrah.  I’m so excited.”

The Guardian continued, ignoring his comments.  “Many have died at your hand.  But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of –”

Zevran’s blood turned cold.  “How do you know about that?”

“I know much,” the Guardian answered, “it is allowed to me.  The question stands, however.  Do you regret –”

“Yes,” Zevran interrupted him again.  “The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know.  I do.  Now move on.”

The Guardian finally turned its eyes back to Revan.  “The way is open.  Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

Revan crossed her arms over her chest and bowed in respect before opening the door to the first of the trials.  As the group filed in, Zevran saw that they were in a long, grand hall.  Giant arches separated alcoves and were crowned with ancient sculptures.  In each alcove stood a ghostly apparition.  Zevran could tell by their clothes that they were from a distant time, probably as old as Andraste.  Revan scanned the room before approaching one of the figures.

The first figure she approached was a woman in a long, conservative dress.  As Revan got closer, the ghost spoke, “Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come.  Of what do I speak?”

Revan’s brow furrowed, scrunching her scars.  “Riddles, hmm?  Very well.  The obvious answer is dreams.”

“A dream came upon me,” the spirit acknowledged her answer, “as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart.  It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death.  I am sorrow and regret.  I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save.”

The spirit vanished with a flash of light, the first task of the trial complete.  Revan frowned in displeasure before addressing the group.

“My Andrastian knowledge is a bit lacking, so help would be welcome,” she instructed them, giving pointed glances to Leliana, the cloistered sister.

“Of course,” the Orlesian responded, the venom distinctly lacking from her voice after her confrontation with the Guardian.

The next spirit was a younger woman.  “The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not.  Of what do I speak?”

“A tune,” Sten responded instantly.  All their questioning looks only got a shrug in response from the odd Qunari.

“Yes,” the ghost – Ealisay, he recalled – smiled.  “I was Andraste’s dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing.  She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard Her would be filled with joy.  They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste’s song, and then She sang no more of simple things.”

Again, the spirit vanished.  Revan looked as if she wanted to question why the large, intimidating bronze-skinned giant knew the answer to the riddle, but she sighed and let it go, moving on to the next visage, an elf in armor.

“I’d neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me.  Of what do I speak?”

“Home,” Revan responded sadly, before anyone else could.  Of course she would know that.  She did not have one.

“It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium.  But She was betrayed, and so were we.”

As the ghost of the person Zevran recognized to be Shartan the Liberator disappeared, Revan bowed her head and muttered something in Dalish under her breath.  He wondered if it was a prayer for the dead.  Regardless, she quickly spun on her heel and moved on.

The next ghost was a stern woman in the robes of a magister.  She looked at the approaching party with repugnance.  “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  Of what do I speak?” she practically spat.

“I would say that sounds a lot like vengeance,” Shale spoke up sarcastically.

Apparently, however, that was the answer the spirit sought.  “Yes.  My husband, Hessarian, would have chosen a quick death for Andraste.  I made him swear that She would die publicly, with Her warleaders, that all would know the Imperium’s strength.  I am justice.  I am vengeance.  Blood can only be repaid in blood.”

The next one was more familiar to Zevran.  “A poison of the soul, passion’s cruel counterpart; of what do I speak?” the Avvar warrior asked them.

“Oh, oh!  I know this one!” Zevran chimed in.  “Jealousy.”

“Yes, jealousy drove me to betrayal,” the apparition of General Maferath, the Betrayer, admitted.  “I was the greatest general of the Alamarri, but beside Her I was nothing.  Hundreds fell before Her on bended knee.  They loved Her, as did the Maker.  I loved Her too, but what man can compare with a god?”

The next was one of the only figures to be dressed in the early robes of the Chantry.  Zevran guessed that this was Disciple Havard.  “Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom.  Of what do I speak?”

“The mountains?” Leliana spoke up, having also recognized him.

“Yes,” the spirit intoned his head.  “I carried Andraste’s Ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains to the east where She could gaze ever into Her Maker’s sky…  No more fitting a tomb than this we could find.”

As he vanished, Zevran couldn’t help but comment, “I mean, this is a pretty impressive tomb.”

Wynne and Leliana both stared daggers at him, but Revan merely chuckled and moved on.

The next was a woman, also dressed in the early robes of the Chantry.  “No man has seen it but all men know it.  Of what do I speak?”

“Hunger, Disciple Cathaire,” Wynne answered respectfully, demonstrating her knowledge of the Chant of Light.

“Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium,” the disciple explained.  “The Maker kindled the sun’s flame, scorching the land.  Their crops failed, and their armies could not march.  Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth.  I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies.  I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us.”

The last was perhaps the most obvious.  A man in splendid Tevinter robes greeted them.  “She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants.  Of what do I speak?”

“Mercy,” Revan said with absolute certainty.

“Yes,” the archon responded.  “I could not bear the sight of Andraste’s suffering, and mercy bade me end Her life.  I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him.”

As Archon Hessarian’s shade disappeared in a flash of light, Zevran realized that they had completed the first of the trials.  He was about to say something witty to that effect, but the set expression on Revan’s face deterred him from doing so.  She seemed perturbed, and Zevran realized this might not be the best time for mockery.

She opened the next door, and instantly froze.  In front of them was a man, tall and muscular and imposing.  Stark blue tattoos ran across his head, and some strange metal mask covered the lower half of his face.  He wore a strange red battle suit with a black half cloak, and a metal cylinder similar to Revan’s lightsabers hung from his belt.  He stood, his hard eyes locking with Revan’s, his arms folded across his chest.

Suddenly, Revan drew herself up, and before his eyes she changes from the kind woman he knew to a proud warleader, a Jedi.  She strode up confidently to him.

“Master,” he bowed his head, his voice strangely grated.

“Alec.”  She said his name barely above a whisper, but Zevran could feel the emotion behind it.  “You are dead.”

“At your hand,” he reminded her.  “You led me down the path that ended in my demise.”

“And you followed me.  You fired upon my ship and betrayed me,” she replied in kind.  “You made your own choices, as did I.  I only wish it had not ended as it did.”

His proud shoulders slumped at the truth of her words.  “I wish I had had the courage to face you in person.  It was cowardly of me to betray you from a distance.  In the end, it turns out that you were both a greater Jedi and a more powerful Sith than I was.  I know the importance of what you are doing, and what you will do.  There is no such thing as coincidence; the Force has always led you to where you have most needed to be.  Do not mourn for me and the others you have killed; we cannot be brought back.  You, however…you are alive, and you have a role to play.  The Force chose you long ago.  Do not give in to weakness and do not make the same mistakes that we made in the past.  May the Force be with you, Darth Revan.”

He took her hands as he said this, and something passed between them.  Violet light filled the chamber, and then the shade of her past was gone.  Revan’s hands clutched the token tightly, her knuckles whitening, but her face remained impassive and controlled.  Her frame still held proudly, she wordlessly strode forward to the next trial and surreptitiously slipped the item over her head.  Zevran thought it was curious that the Gauntlet had singled her out for this test, and he suspected by the confused glances the others exchanged that they were thinking the same thing.

The next room, however, quickly diverted their attentions.  The next trial appeared to be a fight – against themselves.  Dark shades that had taken the party’s forms were arrayed in front of the door to the next part of the Gauntlet.  They all possessed red eyes.  The shade of Revan strode forward, apart from the rest of the group, and ignited her blades in a blatant challenge.  The blades glowed with red energy.  Revan drew her own blades, accepting the offer, and holding them to the side, approached.  Several paces away, she stopped and dropped into a fighting posture, with her knees bent and feet apart, lightsabers held at the ready.  Her shade smiled cruelly and lowered a blade pointed at Revan’s chest.  This, apparently, signaled the other shades to begin their attack.  It was unfortunate that Zevran was incapacitated by his ribs, but he had borrowed Leliana’s spare bow and had begun firing arrows at the apparitions.  Shale was an unstoppable boulder, and when the golem crashed with its counterpart, the sound of rocks grating echoed through the chamber.  Sten rushed to meet his counterpart, unphased by the disturbing trial.  Wynne tried to counter her counterpart’s spells, but the shade was trying to do the same.  Meanwhile, his shade was trying to stab his friends in the back as they fought, using every dirty trick in the book.  The fight was not looking good.

Revan, meanwhile, was locked in an epic battle with herself.  Their blades moved faster than Zevran would have thought possible, and their battle was mostly obscured by the whirl of the dancing lights.  He could tell Revan was tired, as she seemed to be mostly defending, but she was managing to hold her own.  Their speed was unbelievable, and Zevran realized then that she would be a match for even the most experienced sword masters.  Somehow, however, she was still aware of the battle around her, and could sense her comrades faltering as they faced their own shades.

“Do not fight yourselves!  Use your strengths to exploit the others’ weaknesses!” she commanded them as she locked blades.  “I will hold my shadow off, but work to dispatch the others!”

Realization dawned on everyone’s faces.  Sten immediately dodged his shade’s attack and moved toward Wynne’s double, realizing that magic was hindering their efforts.  Zevran and Leliana launched volleys at Sten’s counterpart, hoping to pin him down and prevent him from accosting others.  The Qunari managed to slice the unprotected mage in half, and the shade dissolved in mist.  Wynne, now free to use her power, froze the shadow of the golem to the spot as it grappled with the real one.  Zevran took careful aim, and shot an arrow into its forehead where he knew one of its magical symbols was.  The shadow of the golem shattered, freeing Shale, who went directly for Leliana’s shade that had been hassling them with arrows.  Zevran flinched as the golem brutally crushed the slight girl into vapor.  As Zevran’s own shade ran up behind Sten to stab him from behind, Leliana used her arrows to take advantage of his brief pause, and the arrows clattered to the ground as the spirit dissolved.  Wynne fired a powerful spell at the shadow of Sten, who was knocked to the ground and slain by a rocky fist to the temple.  That left only the dark double of Revan.  The Jedi had been locked in close combat with it, distracting it from pestering the others, but Zevran could see her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.  They were still a blur, but he recognized her form from one of the exercises she had shown him.  She was relying heavily on a defensive form, but she was constantly switching forms in order to keep her enemy from taking advantage of her.  He noticed that she was inching backwards slowly to where her shade had her back to the fight against the others, so when she finally knocked aside the red blades and the shadow had to twist to recover, Shale was behind the apparition and took the opportunity to grapple it.  Before the shade could react, Revan closed her fist in the air, and the shadow exploded in a cloud of black mist.  Breathing hard, she deactivated her blades and wiped the sweat from her brow before wordlessly going to the next door.  Zevran slung his borrowed bow over his shoulder, unsure if they would have to fight yet more enemies and prudently not ruling it out.

The next trial puzzled him at first.  There was a deep chasm where the path seemed to have fallen into a pit below.  There were large stone tiles forming two halves of a circle on either side of the chasm that they could stand on, but that didn’t connect to the other side.  He counted six tiles on either side.  Revan, ever the leader, took an experimental step on one of the tiles closest to the entrance.  Immediately, an apparition of a stone block appeared over the chasm.  She stepped off, and it disappeared.  She stood on it again and asked Leliana to stand on another.  The image of the stone seemed to take physical form as the bard stood on the other tile.

“It’s a puzzle,” the Jedi explained, contemplating their next move.  “One of us will walk across the bridge as the rest of us build it with these platforms.  If we are lucky, once one of us is over the full thing will appear.  Otherwise, only one of us will be able to make it to the Ashes.”  She paused, emphasizing her point.  “And if we make a wrong move, the bridge will fall, along with whomever is on it.  I do not know what will become of them.”

The threat hung in the air as the party mulled over her words.  Revan looked at Leliana.  “I know this means the most to you, but I do not wish to unnecessarily put you in harm’s way.”

Leliana seemed taken aback by her sudden concern.  “I never dreamed of seeing the Urn of Sacred Ashes…if I must risk death to do it, I would gladly.”

Revan nodded at her in acknowledgement, then drew her blade and lit it.  She plunged it into the wall behind them, and with the blade drew a crude drawing of the tiles.  She stepped on the one nearest her, and marked which tile of the bridge appeared next to the drawn tile.  The rest quickly got the idea, and Zevran hobbled over to the next tile and stepped on it.  She noted the change and marked it.  One by one, they went through the twelve tiles and marked the positions.  Revan stared at it for a few minutes, then told each of them where they should stand.  Revan was the last to take a tile, and a partial bridge was formed.  Leliana hesitantly stepped onto it, but it stayed firm.  She moved to the very last tile, then informed Revan that she was ready for the next tile.  Revan ordered Sten to step off, and with baited breath they waited to see if Leliana would fall.  She did not.  Sten went and stood on a different tile, and the next appeared, not solid but there.  Revan then moved Shale, and the block formed completely.  Leliana stepped forward.  The Jedi directed them, and though they worried for the bard that was at their mercy, the group seemed to trust Revan’s decisions.  Soon, the last tile was formed, and Leliana walked across and on to the opposite side.  Revan let out a sigh of relief, which was accompanied by the crunching of rock as the rest of the bridge formed behind Leliana to allow the others to join her. 

The last room was arguably the most impressive.  A simple stone alter stood directly in front of them, but on the far wall were two stone guardians keeping vigil over a set of stairs that led up to a platform upon which a statue of Andraste Herself stood with an eternal flame in hand, and below her, the glint of gold: the Urn of Sacred Ashes.  The only problem was the large wall of flames that cut across the room, barring them from entry.  Zevran surmised that this must be the last test.

Wynne strode over to the altar, where a small, worn inscription was carved.  “It reads, ‘Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit.  King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’”

At her words, Revan shrugged and began removing her armor.  They all stared at her in various degrees of confusion and horror.

“What are you doing?” Leliana asked hesitantly, voicing their concerns.

“It seems that we must strip ourselves of everything,” she replied nonchalantly, stepping out of her boots.  “So, take everything off!”

Sten seemed the least perturbed of them all, and immediately began unbuckling all of his armor.  Shale sighed, obviously not happy about the situation, but began the precarious process of removing all of the crystals that adorned it.  Wynne made a face, but she began unstrapping her belts and packs and undoing the clasps of her robes.  Even Leliana reluctantly started removing her armor, but her eyes were fixed on the golden glint in the distance.

This was not going as Zevran had imagined it.

Of course, on their long journey across the whole of Ferelden, he had often entertained himself by envisioning how he would first see his companions naked.  Usually it involved seducing them.  Sometimes he liked to mix it up and had it so they seduced him.  But it never had been because of a religious trial and totally not in any sexual way.  He was almost disappointed.  But naked beautiful people were naked beautiful people, and he wasn’t one to complain.  As was his duty, he made to join the group of naked bodies and gingerly tugged off his shirt and removed his boots, but when he looked up from his feet he caught himself staring.

He had imagined Revan naked before.  Of course he had.  Probably more than his other companions combined.  But to see it in real life was a completely different matter.  She was…not what he had expected.  That was not to say he was let down; in fact, it was completely the opposite.  Her body was artistic perfection: muscular but curvy in all the right places, well defined and toned.  She did indeed have burns covering one side of her body as suspected, and surprisingly had two tattoos on her shoulder: a strange crescent shape and the symbol of the Grey Wardens directly below it.  But what was most striking was the large, intricate, beautiful dragon tattoo that started at her breastbone and curled its way around her neck and then down her back before its tail wrapped around her thigh.  He had never seen anything like it.  The dragon seemed to move with her, wriggling as her muscles contracted and relaxed.  He was transfixed by it.  The work by itself would have taken hours, if not days, and the pain must have been incredible.  It didn’t help that the beautiful tattoo was also on a beautiful canvas, but he was trying to ignore that part for obvious reasons.

Unfortunately, it did not ignore him.  He felt her eye upon him, and forced himself to meet it.  Revan grinned at him wickedly; _damn the woman_.  “Your tattoos feeling inadequate?” she teased him.

“I never feel inadequate, thank you,” he replied with bravado he did not feel at the moment.  It was hard enough to look at her in all senses of the phrase, never mind replying wittily.  But then, as he removed the last of his clothing, he caught a glimpse of Sten.

“Okay, now I feel inadequate,” he admitted.  The Qunari grunted, but otherwise denied to comment.  At least the sight had sobered him slightly.

Revan strode on bare feet to the barrier and, untroubled by the fire, walked through it with no hesitation.  Seeing her pass through without injury, the others followed her.  Zevran walked through, the flames tickling his skin warmly but not burning him.  It was altogether not an unpleasant sensation.  Once the party was on the other side, the Guardian strode through the flames to greet them.

“You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet,” the spirit said, even as their clothing shimmered on them and reappeared as if they had never taken it off.  “You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed.  You have proven yourselves worthy, pilgrims.”  And with that, he vanished, presumably resuming his constant vigil.  Zevran scowled that he had not had the time to appropriately appreciate everyone without their clothes.

“I never dreamed I would ever lay eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes…I…I have no words to express…” Leliana’s words died on her tongue as she approached the stairs.

“Leliana, Wynne, I think you two should have the honor of taking a pinch of Her Ashes,” Revan suggested.

“I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here,” Wynne turned to her.  “I will never forget this feeling.”

The two of them climbed the stairs to pay tribute to Andraste, while the rest waited at the foot of the stairs, feeling oddly out of place.  Zevran, though he had been raised in the Chantry, was not honestly devoted to it, despite joking with Alistair that he was.  He had no real interest in the Urn aside for how much he could get for a pinch of the Ashes, a thought that even he knew was irreverent in this place.  He was content to just look upon the Urn.  Revan, oddly, was looking at the area around the Urn.  He wondered if she was seeing something they were not.

“What an odd thing to do with the honored dead…to store it in a pot,” Shale commented out of the devotees’ earshot.  “Bizarre…”

Sten seemed to agree with the sentiment.  “It seems we have found a waste bin.”

Zevran couldn’t help but comment.  “It’s a nice vase.  I should get one for my house.”

“I did not know you had a house,” Sten replied.  “I thought you lived in a brothel.”

“Only most of the time,” Zevran winked at him.

The devout descended the stairs, each with a small leather pouch they had taken a pinch of the Ashes from.  Their faces wore expressions of pure bliss.  Zevran envied them in a way: their surety and faith seemed comforting.  But Zevran had stared Death in the face too many times for him to truly believe anymore.

“If any wish, we may spend more time here,” Revan kindly offered.

Sten frowned.  “It is time we were off.  It is foolish to spend yet more time in this place.”

Revan gave the rest of them a moment to counter, but none did.  She led the way out of the temple, and back toward the old, crumbling temple of the cultists.  They wound their way back to where Brother Genitivi was examining some of the reliefs.  He looked up at them hopefully.

“Welcome back!” he greeted them warmly.  “You were gone for quite some time.  Well?  Did you find it?”

Leliana held up her pouch eagerly.  The brother looked upon it, awe dawning on his face.  “It that…oh, there is some dust on – no, that’s not dust…oh, Maker…I’m not worthy to look upon…” but look upon it he did.  “What was it like?” he looked up suddenly, meeting eyes with all of them.  “Coming to the Urn, I mean?”

“Nothing has touched me quite so deeply,” Wynne replied for them.  Zevran kept his tongue in check.

“You are all very fortunate people.  And so am I,” the brother said.  “Perhaps my research will not seem so much like blasphemy to the Chantry now.  We must organize an expedition.  There is so much history here.  It must be studied.  And…and pilgrims should be allowed to come to the Urn.”

Revan’s face immediately soured at his words.  “I am not sure that is wise,” she counseled him.  “Many will try to exploit this discovery.  I would advise caution.”

“But the Urn belongs to all the faithful,” Brother Genitivi frowned.  “How can you deny this to them?  No, we must share it.”

Wynne, surprisingly, sided with the Jedi.  “You have noble intentions, Brother Genitivi, but can you say the same of your brethren in the Chantry?”

“Deny them a corpse?  Unthinkable indeed,” Sten muttered under his breath.

“And perhaps charge them an entry fee?” Zevran helpfully added, only to be met with dark looks.  “No?”

Brother Genitivi set his shoulders.  “I will spread this good news, or die trying.”

“If something bad comes of this, it will be on your conscience,” Revan warned him.

“I must return home,” he turned away, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  “I have much to do.  If you or your companions ever find yourselves in Denerim, please visit me.  I hope to see you soon, my friend.”

They clasped hands in mutual respect.  “Leliana and Wynne will accompany you to Redcliffe,” Revan informed him, speaking of the arrangements they had agreed upon earlier.  “And I am sure that once there, Bann Teagan will be able to spare someone to escort you to Denerim.  The roads are becoming more and more dangerous.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at her.  They departed from the cold, empty temple and back through the village.  Outside, on the road, the party said their goodbyes, and the bard, the mage, and the scholar began their long trek east back towards the arling of Redcliffe.  The rest of them were bound north, to Orzammar.

* * *

 

_Revan_

The day had been grueling.  She had not expected many of the trials that the Gauntlet had presented her with.  They had retrieved the Ashes, and with any luck by the time they had secured the treaty with the dwarves, Arl Eamon would be cured and they could convene the Landsmeet.  But it had come at a great price.

She still felt great guilt at putting Zevran in such danger.  It should have been her to be so grievously injured.  It was her, after all, that the high dragon had wanted to kill.

 _How darest thou cometh here, agent of Death_ , the dragon had hissed in her head.  _Thou shalt die knowing thy power was pitiful and thy plight meaningless._

He had assured her that he was all right, or at least would be, but she could not let more people be killed on her account.  She would have to be more careful.

Her companions were eager to reach the dwarven city, so they had spent the last half of the day hiking through the mountains, covering several leagues before the recovering assassin had finally told them that he could go no further.  Shale had offered to carry him, but the sun was setting regardless.  Revan had called for them to make camp.  She helped change Zevran and Sten’s bandages, making the healing poultices as Wynne and Marethari had taught her.  Then she attended to Shale’s crystals, ensuring that none had been affected by their trials.  Finally, as her organic charges retired for the evening, she excused herself from Shale, saying she needed to meditate, alone.  She had climbed the slope until she found a secluded outcropping of scrawny pines, barely clinging to the rocky terrain.  She sat amongst their gnarled roots and pulled out the amulet that Alec had given her.  The front was a familiar symbol – her signature, the marking she had put on her flagship, a curving design she had hoped to put in the past.  And on the back, a mirrored surface.  As she looked into it, she saw someone else there, his eyes hard and accusing.

And the tears began to flow unbidden down her face.


	17. Act XVII

Act XVII: Orzammar

Revan had totally forgotten what a big deal a golem was to the dwarves.

The surface dwarves that traded outside Orzammar were usually pretty difficult to impress, given how much time they had spent on the surface, but they all stopped their business and stared in awe as the crystal studded golem passed by them.  The other oddities – a hornless Qunari, a one-eyed woman, and an Antivan elven assassin – were ignored with prejudice.  A working golem!  Shale ignored them all completely, of course.

Even the dwarves guarding the entrance to Orzammar were properly cowed, even though Revan suspected they had to deal with a lot of rabble trying to get into the city.  They continued staring at the golem as she announced their intentions to enter the city, and they waved the party through without any questions, much to the chagrin of other visitors who looked as if they had been waiting to get in for weeks.  When Shale turned to look at the guards as they passed through the large doors that stood between the big sky and the oppressive stone, Revan swore that the dwarves were about to faint.  The Jedi was very glad to have the golem at her side.  Still, despite wanting to defeat Urthemiel instead of helping him, she felt a wariness toward the dwarves, a thought she continually had to purge from her mind.  The dwarves were her allies.  The dwarves were helping them.  The dwarves were not going to strike her down.  Yet.

The entrance led to a massive hall, lined with gigantic stone pillars and the large, intimidating statues of the Paragons, the heroes and leaders of dwarven society.  The Jedi had made a point to learn much about the dwarves on her first visit to Thedas, and she could not say that she necessarily agreed with many of their policies and politics.  She admired their courage and battle prowess, but their caste system made her sick.  Their casteless reminded her distinctly of the outcasts of Taris’ Undercity, or the Cthon of the lowest levels of Coruscant; neither were pleasant comparisons.  Her companions looked around in wonder, completely oblivious to the darkness that lurked beneath the beauty.  Revan could not begrudge them that; the designs were strong but impressive, geometric in form to represent strength but elegant all the same.  Zevran commented on how the dwarves worshipped their ancestors, as if the practice was totally foreign to him.  Revan did not comment on how many species and cultures she had encountered that did the exact same thing.

They passed through a smaller set of doors that were still impressively large and entered into a gigantic cavern that housed the city of Orzammar proper.  It was a truly stunning sight.  The city ringed a lake of lava, which illuminated their surroundings and kept the stone warm.  Extended over the edge of the lava lake was the Proving Grounds, a ceremonial arena where dwarves fought each other in the eyes of their ancestors for honor or for favor.  Merchants lined the streets, calling out their wares.  Guards patrolled as nobles and commoners strolled about.  The whole city was a bustle of activity, and instantly Revan felt more at home.  She was used to cities, they were a comforting presence to her.  She knew how to move about in them, though it would be more difficult in a city where she was one of a handful of humans.

She approached a guard that was eyeing them suspiciously.  “Greetings good man, have you happened to see another party of Grey Wardens?”

The stout dwarf looked her over before glancing at the golem, who crossed its arms expectantly.  “Last I heard, they had taken lodging in the Assembly’s guest quarters, over in the Diamond Quarter.”

“Thank you, sera,” Revan crossed her arms over her chest and intoned her head.  He nodded his head in return, but no more.

Revan looked about, noticing the flow of people and getting the lay of the city.  To their left congregated more of the common folk, and a whiff of alcohol wafted from that general direction; to their right, those in imported silks and gleaming dwarven armor strode, indicating the presence of more wealth.  To the right, then.  Revan led the way, her companions content with her leadership.  She could read a little of the dwarven tongue, and the signs they had posted indicated that they were heading in the right direction.  Again, Shale’s intimidating presence attracted more looks than Revan was typically comfortable with, and she could sense from Zevran’s shifting that he felt the same way.  Luckily, their eyes were practically glued to the golem, and she doubted they even noticed the rest of them.

Criers stood at various points along the streets, shouting the news of the hour to those who cared enough to listen.  As they passed, Revan would slow to listen: there seemed to be a squabble amongst the nobility about who should assume the recently vacated throne of Orzammar, with the two leading contenders being a Lord Harrowmont and a Prince Bhelen.  And somehow, Rose and Alistair had gotten involved.  She sighed as she pieced together the news, having hoped that their luck might have changed and that getting support from the dwarves would have been an easy task.  Apparently, they would have no such luck.  From what she understood of the dwarves and their culture, they would lend no aid until a king sat on their throne, and their Assembly was as deadlocked as the Republic Senate ever was.  No doubt the Steward of the Assembly would have warned Rose and Alistair of this, and no doubt would have pressed them to choose a side and decide on a ruler.  It would be no less than she would expect.  The Assembly, given its resemblance to the Senate, would need a firm hand or a shrewd politician to actually come to a decision.  Given that both sides of this conflict were apparently matched in terms of political savvy, the outcome would only be determined by a strong will: the Grey Wardens.  Perhaps, if available, a Paragon, but given that none had come forward to decide this already, she doubted there was a Paragon alive.  It had been years since she had studied their political climate, however, so she honestly did not know.  It seemed that she would have to get answers from her friends.

The Diamond Quarter was even more impressive than the Commons, where they had arrived.  The streets were cleaner and wider, with no merchants hawking their wares, and were lined with impressive palaces and manors belonging to the noble houses.  Here, the dwarves were dressed in more lavish finery, and were more discrete in their staring at the golem.  Given the decrease in density of people, Revan felt more inclined to speak to her companions, and commented to Shale what an impression the golem was making.  Shale merely replied with a “Harrumph!” and a narrowing of its magical eyes.

On their way through the Diamond Quarter, they encountered a strange sight: an armored dwarf with shockingly red hair and a shockingly pungent odor of alcohol was accosting an uncomfortable-looking nobleman, demanding in a drunken slur for the dwarf and his cowardly house to commit more troops to look for his wife, Branka.  The name sounded familiar to Revan, but she could not quite place it.  The nobleman quietly reminded him that Branka had been lost in the Deep Roads for two years and tried to tell him that if he seriously wanted help, to get sober.  The inebriated dwarf shouted some choice insults at the nobleman before sulking away to whatever alehouse would take his coin.  Revan observed the direction he took, making a mental note to inquire about who Branka was.  She had a sneaking feeling that it was important.

The Assembly was the one of the largest buildings in Orzammar, along with the Proving Grounds and the Royal Palace.  It was the seat of power, with influential deshyrs, noble members of the voting body, constantly coming and going.  In the entrance hall stood a weary-looking grey-bearded dwarf who was juggling many rolls of parchments and speaking with many people all at once.  The grand chambers of the Assembly, where the body convened, was situated directly down the small hall and took up the majority of the space.  The drained dwarf tried juggling a scroll to the top of the pile, but it slipped and tumbled toward the ground.  Revan reached out with the Force and caught it, then placed it gently on top of the precarious pile as the dwarf, whom she assumed was the Steward, gaped at her in awe.  Dwarves did not have magic, so it must have been a rare sight to see it, even if the Force was not exactly magic.

“You must be Dragonheart!” the dwarf finally managed, shifting his horde to be more comfortable.  “The Warden Rose mentioned that you would be arriving soon.  She neglected to mention the nature of your…companions, however.”

“I would imagine she would have, given that she has not met Shale,” Revan responded drawing closer.  “May I offer my assistance, m’lord?”

“Oh!  No, I think I can manage.  But, where are my manners!  I am Bandelor, Steward of the Assembly of Orzammar,” he tried to do an awkward bow, accidentally creasing some of the documents.

“A pleasure,” Revan purred.  “I should leave you to your work then, Steward.  If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of my friends…?”

“Of course!  I have seen to it that they have been given rooms in the west wing,” Bandelor replied.  “I will make sure that rooms are prepared for you and your party as soon as possible.”

“You are very kind, thank you,” Revan bowed to him.

Bandelor took his leave of them, glancing back at them once or twice in curiosity, before disappearing to the east wing toward his own quarters.  Zevran raised a graceful eyebrow at the odd meeting, but made no comment.  Revan led the way down to where she could sense the other members of her party were, and sensing the presence of two of them, knocked loudly on the door.  Zevran gave her a confused stare.  She held up a finger for silence before they heard the panicked rustling of sheets and the heavy thump of feet hitting the floor.  A giggle carried through the stone door along with a muffled swear.  Revan exchanged a look with Zevran, and both shook their heads knowingly.  Finally, after many seconds of waiting, Rose opened the door.

“Maker’s breath!” Alistair exclaimed rather loudly, falling back several steps as Revan stood in the doorframe, arms crossed, with a very large and intimidating golem mimicking her stance directly behind her.

Rose was dressed in the thinnest of slips and looked fairly surprised herself, but quickly met Revan’s eye.  “It seems you have quite the tale to tell us, Dragonheart.”

“And we seem to be interrupting something,” Revan noted that Alistair only had pants on.  And not even belted.  They were getting sloppy.

Rose gave her a playful wink.  “Nothing we can’t resume later.  Shall I fetch Morrigan?  Best we all talk.”

“Sten, if you would be so kind?  She’s across the hall,” Revan gestured. 

The Qunari grunted his acceptance, and the three filed into the room, Shale having to duck a few inches to completely fit.  Alistair looked quite shaken at the sight of their newest companion, and Shale smiled, prepared to take full advantage of his discomfort.  Morrigan appeared, gave a cursory glance at the rest of them, and lithely took a seat in the far corner of the room that had been untouched during the Wardens’ exertions.  She met Revan’s eye, lifting a brow, full of many questions.  Revan had not forgotten the task the apostate had given her.  But, there was business to attend to first.  As the rest of the party circled up, Revan cleared her throat and enacted a thin magical shell over the room to prevent being overheard, a simple spell she had learned from Flemeth’s grimoire.  Then, she began.

“First, this is Shale, a golem we found in the village of Honnleath.  Shale has broken free from the control rod that bound it and possesses free will, but has been gracious enough to give us its support during the Blight,” Revan introduced the golem, not skimping on the details.  Alistair got more nervous, but Rose seemed intrigued.

“Well met, Shale,” the Warden smiled.  “I am Rose Cousland, and this is Alistair and Morrigan.  And of course, Fuzzywuggins.”  The mabari barked happily from his corner, where he kept a watchful eye on all of them.

“At least it isn’t a mage,” the golem commented.  “So it is also a Grey Warden?”

“Yes, I am,” Rose replied, her expression indicating that she had caught on to the golem’s strange way of speaking.

The golem grunted before nodding to Revan to continue.  Revan recapped the events that occurred at Haven, noting that Zevran had slayed the high dragon that had impersonated Andraste and that both Wynne and Leliana had retrieved a pinch of the Ashes and were escorting Brother Genitivi as they spoke back to Redcliffe.  Alistair seemed visibly relieved at the news.  Of course, Sten interrupted when she gave Zevran the credit for the kill, saying that he had not struck the killing blow even though he had served to cripple it.  Zevran, in his typical roguish fashion, had made a comment about being hurt by the Qunari’s cruel words more than he had been hurt by being flung from the dragon.  Morrigan expressed her disbelief in such adventures, but Sten assured her that, despite the embellishments, it was indeed true.

At the conclusion of her tale, Rose spoke up, filling them in on what had transpired after they had arrived in the dwarven city.  The general impression Revan had gotten had been mostly correct: King Endrin, the previous king, had died three weeks earlier and the Assembly had been divided over the succession ever since.  The candidates were Lord Harrowmont, a noble and renowned general who claimed that the king had named him heir in his final hours, and Prince Bhelen, the youngest of the king’s three sons but the only one left alive after the middle son, Duran, had been accused of murdering the eldest, Trian.  There were dark things surrounding both of them, as Rose and Alistair had conferred with both of their lieutenants; the actual contenders for the throne had both been too afraid of assassins to see them personally without a display of loyalty.  Lord Harrowmont’s lieutenant, Dulin Forender, wanted Rose to fight in The Proving for him, and to find out why two of his fighters had dropped out of the contest.  Meanwhile, Prince Bhelen’s lieutenant, Vartag Gavorn, wanted them to deliver documents of a sale of Lord Harrowmont’s property to two houses to show that Lord Harrowmont was cheating them both.  However, Rose had been shrewd enough to take the documents to the Shaperate, who kept records of all that occurred in Orzammar, who had told her that the documents had been forged.

Revan considered her tale.  “So what do you think?”

“I think they’re both fools,” Rose said honestly.  “I think Lord Harrowmont is the more honorable man, but…”

“But he is a coward, and is weak.  He cannot even keep his own men loyal to him,” Zevran looked disgusted.

Rose scowled, but her expression did not indicate disagreement.  Revan turned to Alistair.  “And you?”

“Me?” Alistair quickly regained his wits.  “Right.  Me.  Uhm…look, I’ve been asking around, and it seems that Bhelen is well liked by the merchants and the more…radical, progressive dwarves.  He wants stronger ties to the surface.  He’s rumored to have taken a casteless concubine.  But honestly…there are rumors he killed his brothers.  And maybe his father.  It seems suspect at the best.  Harrowmont is honorable, but he’s…more of a general than a politician.”

Silence fell, and their eyes all fell on Revan.  Her eye scanned the circle and met them all.  “What are you all looking at me for?”

“What do you think we should do?” Rose asked.

Revan laughed.  “I do not know.  I have not been here an hour.  You have been here far longer.  You have talked with these people, heard their tales, seen what they have claimed to support.  You and Alistair should be the ones to decide.”

The lovers exchanged an anxious glance, and Revan was reminded how young they both truly were.  They had not seen half the things she had seen at their age.

“Right.”  Rose looked to all of them.  “I think…I think we should go with Bhelen.  Alistair?”

“Agreed,” the lad replied, surprisingly firm in his response.  “At least until he turns on us.”

“Very well.”  Revan stood and stretched.  “Who are the nobles whom we shall deceive?”

Rose looked vaguely uncomfortable with the phrasing of her question, but procured two documents from her pack.  “Lord Helmi and Lord Dace, though Lord Dace is away on an expedition in the Deep Roads and is being represented by his daughter.”

“Where is Lord Helmi?”

“A tavern in the Commons known as Tapster’s,” Rose answered quickly, having spent much time mulling over her tasks.

“Excellent,” Revan plucked one of the documents out of the girl’s hands.  “I suddenly find myself in need of a strong drink.  Be careful in the Deep Roads!”

“You aren’t coming?” Rose asked, shocked.

The Jedi laughed.  “I avoid the Deep Roads whenever possible.  And besides, I have the feeling that I am going to have…additional business in the tavern.  A premonition of sorts.  I am sure that you all together can handle the Deep Roads.”

Zevran looked a little hurt that she was excluding him from her excursion, but she had known he had lied to her when they spoke in Haven.  She felt immeasurable guilt over the things she had done to the poor man, and she felt that he would be better off not with her, though it was odd to not have him at her side.  Rose showed her the map of the Deep Roads that Lady Dace, the deshyr’s daughter, had given them: it would take four days, by Revan’s estimation, for them to reach Aeducan Thaig and return, provided nothing went wrong in their travels.  As they left the Wardens to put on their gear, and for Revan to make her journey to the tavern as they prepared to venture into the Deep Roads, Revan slipped the grimoire Flemeth had given her to Morrigan.  The girl met her eye again and nodded her thanks; she did not need to know the truth.  Not that it would have changed anything if the Jedi had actually slain the witch.  She suspected Flemeth had known all along that Morrigan would try to kill her, and had probably taken precautions to guard against her fate.  Revan would have.  And from the information contained within the grimoire, she did not doubt it for a second.

She again wished her companions luck, then took her leave.  She had four days to explore Orzammar, to learn its secrets.  This was a task that she was uniquely suited to; she had been more than just a leader in the Mandalorian War.  She was very skilled at drawing out information many tried to keep secret.  She felt it prudent to get as much information on the candidates for the throne as possible, and she also wanted to learn about this Branka that she kept hearing about.

And, most importantly, she just needed a damn drink.

Tapster’s Tavern was what one would expect from a dwarven alehouse.  It smelled of piss and dirt and sour ale a block away, and it was practically bursting full of dwarves, both commoner and noble alike.  The inside, luckily, was relatively clean despite the questionable stains on the floor, some of which looked to be blood.  The bartender looked at her curiously, but she tossed him a silver and he quickly resumed taking orders from his patrons and tapping the barrels of alcohol that lined the shelves behind the bar.  Comely dwarven lasses bussed the bars and tables, trying to avoid the more handsy of the customers as they worked.  Most of the dwarves were too deep in their mugs to notice the rather tall stranger in their midst, but some of the more sober patrons looked up at her arrival.  Most of those were smart enough to resume their activities.

Revan stopped a waitress as she passed.  “Lord Helmi?” the Jedi asked over the din of conversation in the crowded tavern.

The waitress pointed to a corner, where a gaggle of dwarves were standing around a male dwarf dressed in finer clothes than they.  Revan approached, just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

“…told him I don’t understand why the Provings aren’t open to everyone,” the lord said enthusiastically.  He stopped as he saw the human approach, and waved off his crowd.  “Lord Denek Helmi, honored deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly and terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother, who doesn’t like me spending time in taverns.  You understand what I’m saying, right?  On the surface, there are no castes and it works fine.  Am I right, Warden?”

Revan was a bit perturbed that she had been identified so easily; she would have to see about doing something to conceal her scars.  “A controversial opinion for a dwarf in the Assembly,” she remarked coyly, studiously remaining neutral on the subject.

“Very good,” he applauded her.  “I guess somebody already told you I was good-for-nothing, drinking my life away at Tapster’s.  Or did they leave off at ‘greatest shame to ever fall upon the Assembly’?  I’ve always liked that one.  You know, most smiths and tavern-keeps would make decent deshyrs if we gave them a chance and a seat in the Assembly.  Orzammar is so mired in tradition no one bothers asking if the castes are even necessary.”

“I would agree with you there,” Revan said.  “Just because one is born in a certain life does not mean that was the life they were suited to.  Otherwise I would be a farmer, or worse.  That does not, however, mean things on the surface are completely fair.  There is still much prejudice against elves and mages, and there are still the destitute and the desperate.”

“Ah, I have heard the tales.  But surely it must still be better than this,” the lord dissented.  “At least your elves and mages have a chance at a life.”

“Some,” Revan conceded, remembering the apostates, the Hawkes, which she had met in Lothering.  “I hope it will one day be possible for you to make a difference, m’lord.  However, I unfortunately come bearing bad tidings: it seems Lord Harrowmont was playing you and Lady Dace by offering you both the same property.”

She did not even have to offer the forged documents to him.  He sighed in resignation.  “Oh.  Well, I’d ask for proof, or why you care, but frankly, I’m so tired of it I’m not even surprised anymore.  I don’t even want the land, but my house would kill me if I turned it down.  Responsibilities, you know.  Now I’ll have to go through the whole process of rejecting the deal, and they’ll both have to try something else.  And I thought it was going to be a nice day.”

Revan mulled his words.  “Why vote for Harrowmont, if you didn’t want the land?”

“I actually thought he was the better candidate,” Helmi said sourly.  “You must think I’m pretty sodding naïve, huh?  They’re all the same: well-dressed, blood-sucking cave ticks.  I’ll have to inform Mother that Lord Harrowmont hasn’t bought our vote after all.”

They bowed respectfully to each other before the deshyr left for his house, muttering bitterly about double-crossing back-stabbing nobles.  The Jedi, her primary task complete, went and took a seat at the bar and ordered a mug of the house special.  It was a watered down ale that tasted of dirt and stale barley and stone, but it was alcohol.  She began inquiring things innocently of the patrons near her, getting the general feel of the city and some of its more recent history.  King Endrin had been a strong but traditional ruler, keeping the Assembly in line but not upsetting the status quo.  Trian, his eldest and heir, had been fairly disliked for being an arrogant brute but he had bribed and intimidated enough of the deshyrs to have kept the Assembly in deadlock, but before his death there had been rumors that some of the Assembly were considering putting the second son, Duran, up as heir.  Apparently, the second son was a formidable and magnanimous ruler, one that liked taking risks and being a part of the action.  However, upon assuming a commission, he had led an expedition to retrieve the Shield of Aeducan and upon his return was accused, most thought wrongly, of killing Trian.  He had been exiled to the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until his death.  No one had seen him since.  Bhelen, the youngest, was widely believed to have been the true murderer, but he had secured enough support in the Assembly prior to the incident that when Duran was brought back for trial, the Assembly had already voted to condemn him before he had even given testimony.  As far as Branka was concerned, she quickly learned that she had heard her name since the woman was a Paragon.  She had apparently learned something about Paragon Caridin and taken her whole house into the Deep Roads two years ago.  Revan also heard some rumors about the shake-ups of the Carta, the dwarven criminal organization, and about how their leader had been murdered by one of the casteless.  No one seemed to know what had become of the murderer, but apparently the new leader was a cruel woman and had been extending the Carta’s reach into the Commons.  Satisfied that she had learned enough after nursing a few mugs of the poor ale and talking with many of the tavern’s regulars, she accosted one of the barmaids again and inquiring about the surly, drunk dwarf she had seen earlier in the Diamond Quarter.

“You’d mean Oghren,” the waitress, Corra, scowled, disgusted.  “Widower of Paragon Branka.  He should be by the trash barrel.  Easy to spot; everyone gives him a wide berth.”

Revan tipped the waitress and made her way to the trash barrel, as Corra had described.  Sure enough, a heavily armored dwarf that was suspiciously lacking a weapon was leaning woozily against the wall.  His eyes were clearly unfocused from too much liquor.  She approached, wondering how he would react.  Drunks were the hardest to measure, as their moods were unpredictable, but once their type was discovered they were easy to manipulate.

“What do you want?” the red-bearded dwarf growled at her approach.  “Hey, I heard about you.  Grey Warden, coming from the surface, great crisis in the world.  Someone saw your pals talking to Vartag Gavorn, and now it’s all over that you’ve been doing dirty errands for Bhelen.  I figured you’d be the one, you know, who could help me find Branka.  But I guess you’re just like all the rest.”

“I have heard mention of Branka,” Revan said nonchalantly.  “But I will admit to still being ignorant.”

“Branka’s a Paragon, only one smart enough to be raised in the last four generations,” Oghren said proudly.  “She’s a smith, invented some kind of new coal that burns clean.  It’s been two years since she disappeared down the Deep Roads, and your boss never gave her a thought.  I wonder, what does he think he can get from her now?  I know he’s been poking around, trying to find things out about her, what she was looking for.  Won’t tell me spit, though.  He wants it for himself, right?  A little blessing from the ancients’ technology, and he’s assured the throne, is that it?”

Revan spread her hands openly.  “To be honest, I do not give a lick what Bhelen or Harrowmont are planning.  The Wardens need allies, and that means Orzammar needs a king.  My fellow Wardens have decided to throw their lot in with Bhelen and I will support them, but do not think for one second that I or my friends are his lackeys.  I genuinely want to help you find her, throne be damned.”

The dwarf grunted.  “Too little, too late, but it’s a nice gesture, Warden.  If you think your friends’ boot-kissing’ll get you an in I don’t have, you’re welcome to try this.  I know both Harrowmont and Bhelen have been asking about her.  Two years without a peep, and suddenly they want to start looking.  If you find out what they know, it might put me a step closer to finding her.”

“In that case,” Revan straightened, “I shall let you know if we discover anything.  Since there is little I can do about it now though, how about I buy you a drink?”

“Are you propositioning me, Warden?” the dwarf cocked an eyebrow.

Revan laughed.  “Merely making amends for being so late.”

“Fine, a drink it is!” Oghren proclaimed, staggering over to the bar.  Revan sat next to him, ordering drinks for both of them, much to the barkeep’s obvious disapproval.  Upon receiving his mug, Oghren held it up in a toast.

“To those we’ve lost!” he cheered sourly.

“To those we shall find!” Revan clinked her mug against his and drank a hearty amount.  Oghren chuckled darkly and drank with her.  Revan finished her ale quickly, then gestured for another.  Oghren eyed her enquiringly, not drinking nearly as fast as she.

“You drink like you’ve seen some shit,” he remarked finally.

Revan gave him a wicked grin and downed the second glass.  “Too much my friend.  I do not often indulge, but I have recently been reminded of all the shit I have done and for today at least, I would like to forget it.”

“Cheers to that,” Oghren raised his pint.  “But this swill ain’t exactly the sort ta take you out.”

“Enough of it will,” she remarked.

“Ha!  A woman after my own heart!” he laughed.  “But I bet it’ll take more to knock me out than you.”

“You are on, dwarf,” she challenged him before knocking back her third pint.  “Barkeep!  Keep them coming!  I plan to drink this man under the table!”

“Ancestors, not again,” a patron near them remarked with a shake of the head.  The barkeeper eyed them with disdain, but a sovereign slid across the bar livened his spirits greatly, and he wordlessly slid two more mugs to the odd drinking pair.

Revan clinked glasses with Oghren.  “To loves lost and hearts broken!  To lives taken and sacrifices made!  May they one day be worth it.”

“Amen!” Oghren slurred.

Several hours passed as they drank in the tavern.  Unfortunately, Revan’s tolerance for alcohol was terribly high given her abilities to heal quickly, so the bar quickly became covered with empty pints that the barkeep was struggling to remove and clean before she was ready for another.  It did not help that Oghren had been right about the ale; the stuff barely had an alcohol content, and it took an incredible amount for her to even feel a little change in her brain chemistry.  Oghren, too, seemed to have developed a higher-than-normal tolerance, and the barkeep eventually had to tap another barrel just for the two of them in order to keep their appetites satisfied.  When her tongue had finally loosened, she inquired about his lack of weaponry, and he explained that he had accidentally killed the youngest son of a Lord Meino in a first-blood match after the lad had insulted Branka by insisting that she had perished in the Deep Roads.  As punishment, he had been stripped of weapon and house name.  But, the dwarf seemed regretful of his actions and had accepted the punishment, something worse than being exiled.  Revan mentioned that she had probably murdered millions at that point, eliciting a shocked expression from Oghren.  Revan admitted then some of her crimes in a hushed tone, careful that the other patrons did not overhear her.  While tipsy, she was not a fool.

Oghren shook his head in disbelief.  “Ancestors’ hairy balls, that’s some heavy shit.”

“Hence the ‘getting drunk’,” Revan raised a glass pointedly.

“How d’you live with it?”

Revan shrugged sadly.  “I joined the Grey Wardens.  I hope to one day make amends for my actions.  As they say, ‘ _In war, victory.  In peace, vigilance.  In death, sacrifice_.’”

“Sounds like the Legion of the Dead,” Oghren remarked.

“They are very similar,” Revan concurred.  “They say, when one joins, their past crimes are erased.  I still feel the burden of mine though.  I will do whatever necessary to make sure no more die from my mistakes.”

Oghren chewed her words over.  “Well, can’t say I can understand what you did…but damn if you don’t have the biggest balls I’ve ever seen.”

She snorted at the unexpected comment.  “What do you mean?”

“Ya just met me and ya tell me you’re solely responsible for a Blight!” the dwarf exclaimed.  “By the Ancestors, I wouldn’t think you were serious except that the stories I keep hearing about you are even more ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but most of those are probably at least partly true,” Revan said flatly.

Oghren almost spit out his drink.  “You fart fireballs our yer arse and shoot lightning out yer eyes?”

“Close enough,” she jested.

He chortled and raised her another pint.  “To stupid decisions and fitting punishments, then!”

She toasted him in silence.  Another hour or so passed before finally, Oghren reached his limit and his head fell solidly on the stone counter, black out drunk.  Revan was drunk herself, but not blindly so.  She still could function.  Mostly.  The barkeep’s pointed glare told her it was time for the two of them to depart.  Revan shook Oghren awake enough to get the location of his domicile before settling her tab and hoisting the dwarf onto her back.  The dwarf was heavy, especially in armor, but Revan was aided by her many years of conditioning and her ability to manipulate matter enough that he weighed just enough that her muscles could support him.  Any more manipulations of the Force while she was this drunk would lead to her passing out.

On her way through Orzammar to Oghren’s humble abode, she received several strange looks, but no one commented on the armor-bound one-eyed human woman almost effortlessly carry a full-grown armored drunken dwarf man.  Probably for the best.  She would probably have breathed fire for them if they had said anything.  And magic in her state was bad.  She was trying to keep her impulses in check.  Finally, she reached his house.  Revan fumbled in her many hidden pouches for the lockpick that Zevran had given her “for a rainy day”, and attempted to pick the lock.  Unfortunately, trying to master a new skill while inebriated and partially incapacitated by a dwarf slung over the shoulder was proving too difficult for her, so the growled and blasted the lock apart with a burst of magic.  Very unsubtle.  She was not pleased with herself.  Especially once the headache began from her terrible combination of drawing on her connection with the Fade and the alcohol that was flooding her brain.  Stupid.  She crouched to fit through the smaller door and not hit Oghren’s head on the ceiling, then found his bed and flung him on it.  She considered for a moment if she should try to remove his armor, but she figured it would not be his first time waking up with a hangover in his armor and left him.  Revan tried to close the door before remembering that she may have destroyed the closing bit.  Mumbling to herself that she knew better than to get drunk and should have just sucked it up like a good little Jedi like Bastila (that hypocritical pretentious little harpy) had always told her to be, she spent several dizzying moments trying to find the damaged lock and then, cursing herself in Mando’a and Qunlat, magically refit it in the door.  The headache was now bordering on a migraine, and Revan figured it was best to retire to her quarters in the Chambers of the Assembly.

The walk back was…precarious at best.  Revan kept her head tall and walked in as straight a line as she could manage, but the pounding in her temples was becoming unbearable, and her body seemed sluggish and temperamental.  Now that she was not doing anything as ridiculous as hauling a dwarf around or anything as intimidating as walking around with golem companion, most of the dwarves seemed to take very little notice of her.  Or at least she hoped they were not noticing her.  The walk of drunkenness she was doing was unbecoming of her new order…well her old order too, truth be told.  Not that it had stopped her in the past.  She recalled some good times on Dxun when she was spying on the Mandalorians and trying to learn of their defenses and battle plans… and trying to learn about their warleaders.  She also recalled some of her earlier missions too, in the levels beneath Coruscant’s gilded surface, the shadier bits with the darkened dives and tight-lipped bartenders.  And on Tatooine, where the only entertainment – and the best source of information – was the cantina.  Revan sometimes missed her old life.  She missed plumbing especially, with electricity a close second.  If only they just had electric lights, that would make her life just a little better.  But, her actions had led her here, and so she would stay until she had fixed what she had broken.  There was no going back.

True to his word, Steward Bandelor had arranged a room for her in the west wing of the Assembly.  At least, she chose it as her room as it was not Alistair’s or Rose’s or Morrigan’s.  She slammed the door behind her, stripped off her armor, and collapsed on the bed.  Stone.  Damn the dwarves.

* * *

 

“Why in the name of the Paragons would you want all that?” the dwarven merchant eyed her oddly.

“Do you have it or not?” Revan asked shortly.

The merchant deigned not to respond, but began shifting through his wares.  Sure enough, much to both of their surprise, the merchant possessed the items she wanted: the fruit from a prickly Antivan plant and a bundle of dried, white flowers known as starflowers in Ferelden.  She paid the merchant for both items and returned to her room in the Assembly.  Using the few alchemical things she had brought with her to make the healing poultices for Sten and Zevran, she extracted the oil from the seeds of the flowers and separated the juices of the fruit from the numerous seeds inside it.  She combined the oil and the juice into a cocktail and drank it quickly before raiding the items Sten had left to see if he had stashed any cookies.  Praising Mythal, she found a few stashed away in the pockets of his pack.  The best cure for a hangover: supplements to replace the things purged or purge the things added by alcohol consumption.  The cocktail was designed to replace important lipids and minerals the body needed for immune function and blood flow, and the cookies were to restore her blood sugar.  She laid down again for a short nap, and when she awoke she felt significantly better, though she vowed to not get that drunk again for a long time to come.

But, it was time for her to do things.  This was the second day of her party’s voyage into the Deep Roads.  She would have two days after this one to come to a final decision about the two candidates; not that she doubted Rose and Alistair, but she wanted to make sure they were not making a huge mistake.  Though either candidate would likely support their cause and uphold the Grey Warden’s treaty, she knew that there would be more they would face after the Blight.  Especially those two.  Now that they were securing the last of the treaties, and that Arl Eamon was presumably recovering, Revan would need to start scheming about the Landsmeet, and those two were of key political significance.  The Landsmeet would be the trickiest thing to navigate, as Ferelden politics were brutal and their adversary was wily and intelligent.  But, no matter who won the throne, Orzammar would be a major ally.  Or a major problem.  And it would depend all on whom they put on the throne.

Her day, however, did not take the turns she had expected.  She decided, as was her nature, to wander about the Commons and talk to the people.  Since the dwarves were more insular and cut off from the world above, many only knew that she was a Grey Warden, but not about her being a Dalish or slaying two high dragons.  One, if she gave the credit to Zevran for the false Andraste.  They were more than willing to talk about their opinions about the election, whether they supported Bhelen or Harrowmont, and on their opinions on the current policies of Orzammar.  She found that, much as Alistair had, the more enterprising of the commoners were in favor of Bhelen, as well as many of the younger, more liberal dwarves, while the older and more conservative, tradition-minded dwarves supported Harrowmont.  There were exceptions, of course, but that was the general trend she observed.  One exception was the girl that could not give a lick about Orzammar in general.

“You look like you’re not from around here,” the girl commented as Revan passed.

“What gave it away?” Revan quipped, amused at the obviousness of the observation.

“Oh, wonderful!” the girl carried on, oblivious to the sarcasm.  “I’ve been trying forever to find someone who really knows the surface world.  I…I don’t suppose you’ve heard of something called ‘The Circle’?”

“The Circle of Magi?” the Jedi clarified.

“Yes!” the girl practically squealed.

Revan crossed her arms skeptically.  “Why is a dwarf interested in the Circle?  I thought dwarves were not capable of using magic.”

“It’s true, but I’ve been trying to reach someone there for years; I’ve sent missives with every caravan, but I never get a reply.  I want to know if they would accept me for study.”  The dwarven girl was falling over her words in her excitement.

“Probably the Templar’s fault, they can be a bit close minded,” Revan remarked.  “Would you like me to try and ask for you?”

“That would be wonderful!” the girl clasped her hands and bounced on her toes.  “My name is Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste.  Tell them I’ve already begun reading the Tevinter Imperium’s _Fortikum Kadab_ and it’s just fascinating!  Did you know the Imperial Magister Lords once had genealogies of every human family known to produce a mage child?”

Revan smiled kindly at the girl, having once been just as excited about learning all she could about the Force.  She still had a passion for learning, but her enthusiasm had been tempered by the wisdom of caution.  Deciding to impress the girl a bit and hoping her gambit would play off, Revan pulled out one of her many necklaces that was tucked away in her silks.  The one she pulled out was an ironbark locket.  She flipped it open, meeting a dark, glossy mirror.  The locket glowed warm, alerting its twin’s wearer that someone was trying to reach them.  A few seconds later, a familiar face with a dark shadow of a beard and ice blue eyes greeted her with a twinkling smile.

“Daylen!” Revan greeted him warmly.  “How are things at the Circle?”

Immediately, Dagna’s eyes alit with glee at seeing a magical artifact like the scrying lockets.  “Better,” the mage ran a hand through his long hair.  “We finally burned the bodies a few days ago.  Terrible sight.  The only one that didn’t cry was Cullen, but even he was shaken.  I think one of the elven apprentices that died was his crush.  Anyway, did Zevran get better or is he still being difficult?”

“He is better, thank you.  I shall have to tell you about it later.  Right now, I have a bit of an odd request,” Revan brushed aside their usual banter.  She still chatted with her friend when she could, and the last time had been on the road to Honnleath, where she had complained about Zevran’s taciturn attitude.

“Another one?  Did the Qunari lose his sword again?” Daylen joked.

Revan paid the quip with a small laugh.  “No.  Actually, I am in Orzammar and am talking to a dwarven girl, Dagna, daughter of Janar of the Smith Caste, who would like to study at the Circle.  She says she has already started reading the Tevinter text _Fortikum Kadab_ and finds it fascinating.”

Daylen raised an eyebrow.  “Ah, I remember that tome.  Big, thick thing, best used as a paper weight.  Tell her we have much more interesting books in the Circle.  But, I will most certainly go ask First Enchanter Irving.  I think he is taking his lunch with some apprentices.  Give me a few minutes.”  The mage vanished from view, having closed his locket.

Dagna could barely contain herself.  “What is that?  Who made it?  How does it work?  Who was that you were talking to?  Was he a mage?”  She gasped, “Are _you_ a mage!?”

Revan smiled, then held up a finger for each question.  “This is a scrying locket.  I suspect it was made by the ancient elves of Arlathan.  It works by forming a connection with its twin locket and displaying a reflection of what is in front of the twin’s mirror.  It gets more complicated than that but it would take several books and a practical knowledge of both quantum mechanics and elven portal magic to fully explain even this device, let alone the more complicated devices the ancient elves made.  I was talking to a friend of mine, Daylen Amell.  He is indeed a mage at the Circle Tower in Lake Calenhad.  I am also a mage, of a sort, but I can also use a magic that those here cannot.  Technically, then, I am an apostate.”

Dagna proceeded to ask her even more questions based on the Jedi’s previous reply, to which Revan answered to the best of her ability until the locket grew warm around her neck.  She pulled it out, and Daylen once again appeared before her, still smiling.  A good sign, then.

“Congratulations!” Daylen exclaimed.  “First Enchanter Irving has granted Dagna’s request, saying he cannot deny anyone the chance to learn.  He asked me to tell her – could you let me talk to her?”  Revan turned the locket to face Dagna.  Daylen recomposed himself.  “Greetings, Dagna of Orzammar.  First Enchanter Irving would like me to tell you that this path will not be easy, but if you choose it, you will be welcome at the Circle.  You will live with the Tranquil and later, when appropriate, the apprentices.  But we look forward to seeing you here.”

“Ancestors bless you both; I can’t believe it!” Dagna exclaimed.  “There hasn’t been a dwarven observer in the Circle since Ureldin in the thirteenth century!  Uh…I…I need to pack.  No.  My parents would get suspicious.  I need to go.  Is there anything I should bring?  Books?  Tuition?”

Daylen grinned at her elation.  “No, just yourself.  We will provide everything you need.”

“Then I should go…before my parents come looking for me.”  Dagna turned to address Revan. “If you ever go to the Circle again, maybe I’ll see you there.”

“I will most certainly come visit,” Revan assured her.

The dwarven girl bowed deeply to her before racing off to make arrangements for her travel.  Meanwhile, Daylen clucked at her.

“You meet the most interesting people,” he remarked.

“I have not even told you about the golem,” she hinted.

Daylen sputtered.  “You found the golem!?  And you didn’t call me!?”

“I was busy,” she shrugged.  “You know, striking down demons, killing high dragons impersonating Andraste, finding a holy artifact, getting drunk with a Paragon’s husband…”

He stared at her incredulously from the tiny locket.  “All in a week’s work, right?”

“Precisely!” she winked.  “Though, I did tell Zevran I would give him credit for slaying the dragon.”

He laughed and shook his head.  “I have duties to attend to at the moment, but I am calling tonight to hear about these adventures.  Don’t get drunk before then!”

“I honestly would not dream of it,” she remarked before he severed the connection.

The Commons, she found, was filled with interesting people.  She met a lyrium-addled merchant later, which was a very curious thing for her.  She had heard of lyrium poisoning, but had not had the opportunity to see it in person.  She knew that it was a serious problem with older Templars who would become addicted to lyrium and begin to lose their memories and become paranoid, but this merchant seemed amiable but easily distracted and prone to talking to himself.  She made a mental note to, when possible, investigate Templar addiction.  She inquired about the lyrium mining process, but the dwarf was still very loyal to his caste and their traditions and said nothing.  Later, she found a mother whose son, part of the Smith Caste, had vanished five years ago in the Deep Roads on an expedition where he had been separated from his warrior companions.  Revan assured her that, as a Grey Warden, she and her companions would look for her son, but that the Deep Roads were vast and the chances of finding him were slim.  The woman, Filda, was still incredibly grateful, and Revan had to physically extract herself from the woman’s tenacious grip on the only link between her and her son.  She wandered about more, but by the number of people approaching Tapster’s for what passed as their evening she decided it was best she retire for the night.  Two more days to go.

* * *

 

Day three started out a bit more normal.  There was no pounding headache to contend with, no dry mouth or nauseous stomach.  In fact, she did not sleep, but meditated instead.  The alcohol may have made it necessary for her to sleep in order for her body to recover, but the dreams happened to be even more unpleasant than normal.  Urthemiel was getting stronger, and Revan had to protect her mind so he could not exploit their link and endanger her friends.  The night before had been sloppy, and Revan was only just realizing how dangerous her indulgence had been.  She had seen terrible visions of the ever-growing horde, far in the Deep Roads.  Urthemiel was preparing to make his next move, and soon.  He knew that if he took down Ferelden, the rest of Thedas would not be able to mount a sufficient response in time, as the rest of the world was stupidly ignoring their plight, still not believing it was a true Blight.  Only some of the Orlesian Wardens seemed to be taking it seriously, as some of Duncan’s correspondence had indicated.  What better time to strike when the only ones who could defeat you were labeled traitors and outcasts?

Meditating allowed Revan to control what she saw and protect her mind from both Urthemiel and the Fade.  The ritual she had undergone with the Dalish had allowed her to utilize lyrium and connect with the Fade, but this attracted spirits to her.  Even worse, it seemed from her conversations with Wynne and Daylen that she may be even more prone to their influences, as her increased connection to the Force gave her increased control in and sensitivity to the Fade.  Daylen even remarked that her abilities – having visions, being able to manipulate minds, and making bonds with others like Bastila – sounded peculiarly like those called “Dreamers”.  He had promised her that he would gather more information on these special mages, but they were incredibly rare, and usually only found amongst elves.

However, her abilities at the moment were a moot point.  Unfortunately, she did not have hours to peruse the Circle’s extensive library, or conjecture with a Keeper.  However, she was a building over from presumably the most extensive historical record on the planet and she did happen to have hours to spare.  She considered donning her armor, but if she was going to be reading she would rather not wear the constricting leather armor.  She instead threw on some of the Dalish clothing she had brought with her…and over it tugged on her Jedi robe.  The scratchy fabric still smelled like the Temple.  Waxing nostalgic, she departed for the archives of the dwarven people of Orzammar: the Shaperate.  The building was dedicated purely to the keeping of records of the dwarves, but it was incomplete, with many centuries of records lost or missing after the fall of their empire during the First Blight.  Assistants scurried about in the massive stacks of tomes and along a massive stone wall etched with lyrium, and a few nobles milled about, looking for some piece of blackmail or some historical evidence to back a claim or force a deal.  Most of the knowledge was on bloodlines and the dealings between noble houses, but the Shaperate preserved everything.  Even the arrival of Rose and her party was recorded.

Revan approached an elderly dwarf who was hunched over a stone desk, jotting down something in a massive tome.  He looked up at her approach.

“Welcome, Warden Dragonheart.  Your arrival has been recorded in the Memories.  I am Czibor, Shaper of Memories.”

“Greetings, Lord Shaper,” she said respectfully.  “I have come to ask your permission to peruse your shelves for a time.  I believe there is much I can learn.”

The Shaper eyed her curiously.  “What is it you would like to learn about, Warden?”

“Golems, lost thaigs, dwarven knowledge on the Blights, and the accomplishments of the Paragons, to start with.”

The Shaper chuckled at the perceived joke until he saw her expression.  He immediately sobered.  “The knowledge we have on those subjects is immense…it would take weeks just to skim the knowledge we possess about one of those subjects, let alone all…”

“Well, I best get started then,” Revan smiled coyly.

Czibor furrowed his eyebrows in concern, but told her where she might find tomes of interest on each subject.  She thanked him, and made her way to the section on golems.  There used to be an entire Shaperate dedicated to the golems, but much had been lost in the centuries since their creation.  However, Revan wanted to do whatever she could to help Shale remember something of its past, so she quickly read through the tomes on the subject.  The secret of golems seemed to be a closely guarded secret that only the Paragon Caridin knew, but there was still much documented about their deeds and abilities.  There were no mentions of crystals embedded in the ancient golems, a fact Revan planned on telling Shale.  However, there were several theoretical tomes on the magical energies of golems, written by mages that had been curious and had been fortunate enough to be allowed to observe a golem under the watchful eyes of the Shaper of Golems when such a position had existed.

Revan read through an entire stack of books on golems before deciding that she had read enough, and moved on to the Blight.  The dwarves knew as much or more than the Grey Wardens, and it was informative to learn about the darkspawn from the perspective of those that fought them instead of from the perspective she had received upon her first visit to Thedas.  It was clear that all the dwarves, and presumably the Grey Wardens, considered darkspawn to be savage beasts, incapable of rational thought and only as intelligent as a pack of animals.  They noted several tactics that the darkspawn used both in times of Blight and in the intervening periods, describing how, in the absence of an Archdemon, the larger darkspawn – the alphas – would take control of a band and would make war on other bands for territory and broodmothers.  They had no idea that darkspawn could be intelligent, except for a page torn away from its source and shoved in the cracks of an old, worn, decaying tome that mentioned a sighting of darkspawn that talked and walked about like kings.  Revan scowled; the Architect had claimed he was the only one he knew of that was born as such.  She wondered if these were born similarly to him, or if they had been created by him.  But, the note was suspiciously lacking in detail, and more she could not gleam.

Despite the skewed perspective on the darkspawn, she found that the dwarves were replete with information about them.  She read eagerly; best to know thy enemy.  And she wanted to know everything.  Their records primarily consisted of records of encounters with the darkspawn and of those who fought them.  Most notable, and perhaps most noted, were the Legion of the Dead.  She had heard of them, of course, but their history was not.  She read excitedly about them.  They were much like the Grey Wardens, but they did not take in the Taint and they did not wait to die, but threw themselves earnestly at the darkspawn at their earliest convenience.  She read of their adventures and deeds, learning of their great city, Bownammar, that had been lost and recaptured and lost again so many times that the Shaperate had not been able to record it all, and of their many discoveries and feats and heroes.  Any could join, regardless of caste or past, and several of their notable members included casteless.   

Time was all but irrelevant in the dwarven city, as there were no shadows cast by a celestial body (or two, rarely three) to distinguish rotational periods of their planet, nor stars by which to tell the passage of the planet through the celestial plane.  It was only stone.  The dwarves, having lived beneath the stone for many generations and possibly having evolved underground, were accustomed to it, their sense of time part of what they called their “Stone sense”.  But Revan did not have this sense, and she could not tell if it was minutes or hours or perhaps days that she spent reading in the Shaperate.  Eventually, however, she had skimmed through a stack that reached close to the top of her head.  It was time to leave.  She put the tomes back exactly as they were, much to the surprise of the assistants who had been looking at the growing stack with trepidation.  She bid goodbye to Czibor and meandered back toward the Assembly…and almost ran straight into an auburn-haired dwarf scurrying out of a back passage in a hurry.

“I am so sorry, m’lady,” the dwarf bowed her head quickly, bowing deeply as if in fear of retaliation.  “Please forgive my clumsiness.”

“Nonsense, I should have been paying attention,” Revan dismissed her concern.  She would have continued on without paying the encounter any mind except for a brief glimpse of a tattoo on the woman’s face.  “You are…casteless?”

The girl touched her branded cheek in shame.  “I – yes, m’lady.”

Revan looked the girl over.  Her clothes were of fine make, and from the material probably smuggled into Orzammar from the surface.  Her hair was done up, but a few strands were loose, as if the up-do had been done in a hurry.  She wore makeup, but did not cover the brand.  Not a thief, then.  Then she saw the slight smudge marks of the makeup around her eyes and lips and the truth dawned on her.  Silly of her to not have noticed sooner.  She abruptly took the girl’s chin in hand and looked intently at her, much to the terror of the dwarf.

“This man you are seeing – is he hurting you?  Is he making you do things you do not want to do?  Is he taking care of you?” the Jedi demanded.  She recognized a concubine when she saw one.

“What?  No!” the girl tried twisting away, but Revan’s fingers were talons.  “He cares for me!  He calls me his ‘amber rose’.  He’s moved me and my mother out of Dust Town!  He’s promised to help find my sister!”

Revan held her face for a few more moments, examining her for any sign of abuse, before she was finally satisfied that the girl was indeed not being hurt by her patron.  Revan had encountered many girls like her in the galaxy, and not all had been treated well.  More than one arrogant bastard had received an unwelcome visit from her in retribution.  Revan released the dwarf from her clutches, and the girl gingerly rubbed her chin.

“Your sister is missing?” the Jedi continued.

“For a few months now,” the concubine explained.  “You have to understand, there aren’t a lot of options for casteless.  She…she worked for the Carta.  And she got mixed up in a bad job in the Provings and was imprisoned and escaped but she killed Beraht –”

“Beraht?” Revan interrupted her, becoming invested.

“The old Carta boss,” the girl explained.

 “Let me guess: the new Carta boss has your sister locked up somewhere, if she is even still alive,” Revan pondered.  “Who is the new boss?”

“Beraht’s lieutenant, a woman named Jarvia,” the concubine practically spat.  “She’s a foul woman.”

Revan considered the situation.  The Carta were a major problem for Orzammar; this woman Jarvia had apparently expanded the Carta’s influence in the few months she had been in power, and now even the nobles could be heard muttering about it.  The shopkeepers she had pestered had complained about extortion, the few casteless she had seen were given an extremely wide berth in fear and disgust.  The Carta were just another element of instability in Orzammar.

But, if she played this right, they could become a huge asset for their chosen king.

“What is your name?” Revan asked, her voice softening.

“Rica.  Rica Brosca,” the concubine said shyly.

“And your lover’s?”

“I – I cannot say!” Rica blanched.

“Given that you are coming out of a passage connected to the Royal Palace,” Revan surmised, “you must connected to the royal family somehow.  A lieutenant of Prince Bhelen’s, perhaps?”  Revan examined the girl’s face for a sign that she had hit her mark.  The girl seemed uncomfortable, but not squeamish.  Not a lieutenant, then. 

“Or perhaps Prince Bhelen himself?”

Rica shifted uneasily, a dead giveaway.  Revan chuckled.  “It is not a secret, dear.  Harrowmont’s hawkers are crying it out on practically every street corner.”  Before the girl could say anything to her defense, Revan squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.  “Do not worry; I will not say anything, and I will find your sister.”

The girl struggled for words.  “I…thank you, m’lady.”

“Do not thank me yet; what I find may not please you.”

The concubine turned white at the implication of her words, but bowed respectfully and scurried off to wherever she had been heading before.  Revan sighed; there went her quiet evening.  She turned on her heel and began the long trek toward the deepest, darkest part of the dwarven city: Dust Town.  Once, a long time ago, Dust Town had been the actual Orzammar, but centuries of neglect had turned the magnificent city into little more than half-standing ruins and, fittingly, dust.  As she passed through the districts of the decreasingly important castes, the city got older and less proud.  Buildings had started to slouch.  Roofs had collapsed.  Then, a stretch of abandoned houses and buildings that time had worn to little more than fragments.  Finally, the infamous Dust Town itself, far removed from those that wanted little to do with them.  It made Revan sick.  Casteless lingered aimlessly about, begging or sitting idle or just waiting to die.  Many were sick or starving.  Others looked worn thin and tired, barely scrapping by.  And still others were watching her, fingering their barely-concealed weapons, evaluating if she was a worthy mark.  Some she knew were Carta.  Others were lone cutpurses and thieves.  She did not blame them; there was little they could do other than turn to a life of crime.  All stared at her with distrust and fear.

She first approached a lone dwarf standing idly against a shattered stone column.  The dwarf was recalcitrant, but let slip that the Carta was indeed in Dust Town.  Revan slipped him a few coppers and moved on.  She went and sat at a few fires that the despondent and desperate had lit in the streets and alleys, listening to the plight of the people.  The more she asked and the more she listened to them, the more the dusters began talking to her.  She would ask after their families, ask about what they did for work, see if they had housing.  The breakthrough came when a young mother complained that her baby had developed a cough that would not go away.  Revan knew just enough healing magic that she was able to aid the child, and suddenly she had a crowd around her.  Many wanted her help with the sick, some wanted her aid with matters she could not help with, and others just wanted to see magic.  She helped those she could, asking questions as she healed infections and eased the pain of the injured. 

Revan was examining one patient, a woman who had lost both her legs after a guard had broken her kneecaps and forced her to kneel in the mud, infecting them beyond saving, when she asked if the dwarf had ever heard of a woman named Jarvia.

“Know her?  I used to run with her,” the dwarf woman said, almost proudly.  “Jarvia took over the Carta not more than a few months ago, and already she’s got every duster with both legs bearing swords for her.”

“Know where I could find her?” Revan asked, using her magic to ease the pain from the botched amputations.

“Won’t be easy.  She’s gotten real careful since Beraht died, real paranoid,” the woman sighed in relief as the pain lessened.  “She’s got Carta members all carrying these finger-bone tokens.  She scratches some mark into them, so she’ll know they came from her.  There’s doors to her base all over the city, but only one is ever open at a time, and if you show up without a token, you’d never know it was there.”

“And where could I find one of these tokens?”

The casteless shrugged.  “Can’t help you there, _salroka_.  The Carta members keep them real tight.”

Revan finished knitting up what she could of the woman’s mangled legs.  Then, Revan passed her some coins.  “For your troubles.”

The dwarf opened her palms to reveal the silvers Revan had passed her.  “I’ll think of you when I go to bed with a full stomach.”

Revan finished her line of customers, though none as helpful as the legless woman had been.  But, one kind mother warned her to stay away from an abandoned house on the end of the row.  A nervous glance toward a member of the Carta lurking in the shadows nearby told Revan all she needed to know.  Passing some more coins, she continued her work, until a small child ran up to her and begged her to help his father, who was sick and could not move from his bed…in his house at the end of the row.  Revan relished the ease at which this was occurring; not even a few hours in Dust Town and she had already attracted the Carta’s attention!  Part of her was glad that her companions were not here; she had not had the freedom to exercise her full power for fear of accidentally striking one of them.  Or terrifying them.  Soldiers on both sides had fled before her when she had truly given in to her power.

The house was suspiciously dark.  She opened the door, and as she did the boy that had grabbed her ran off in a hurry.  Inside was dark, but such things did not trouble her.  She could see with her blind eye that there were seven of them, lightly armored and armed with wicked daggers.  Once she had closed the door behind her, the outer two flanking the middle dwarves lit torches and placed them in sconces nearby before all seven drew their weapons.

The one to the right of the center dwarf spoke first.  “Well, look what we have here…”

The middle one, the leader by his slightly higher quality gear, added, “Jarvia said you were looking for trouble.  Congratulations, you found it.”

“No, I think you did,” Revan smiled, and with a wave of her hand, extinguished the torches.

She let them have a moment to be confused why it had suddenly gone dark before kicking the dagger out of the right one’s hand and catching it.  She brought it down on his head, instantly killing him.  Then, she pulled the dagger free and, gliding silently up behind the one next to him, stabbed him in the back and through his guts.  He collapsed, spasming, and died.  The leader was shakily trying to relight a torch.  Revan picked up the fallen daggers and took aim, throwing two into one dwarf who was groping in the dark for her.  The daggers hit their marks in his eye and his chest, and he fell to the stone floor in a clatter.  She got near another, elbowing him in the windpipe.  He gasped, dropping his guard.  Revan grabbed his hand and made him slit his own throat before he even understood what was happening and could resist.  One of the remaining dwarves was panicking, brandishing his daggers blindly.  Revan positioned herself well out of the way of his frenzied stabbing, grabbed another dwarf that was still living, and threw the unsuspecting Carta member straight into the heedless blades of his fellow gang member.  The crazed dwarf stopped in shock as the heavy, stout body buckled on his daggers.  Revan merely grabbed a dagger off the floor and thrust it into the back of his head, severing the connection between his head and his spine.  The pair crumpled to the ground.  Finally, the leader sparked a flame, only to reveal the Jedi still standing, blood splattering her, but with no weapon drawn and the rest of his men slain on the ground.  The scent of piss filled the air.

“D-don’t kill me!” the leader fell back in fear against the wall, immediately dropping his weapons.  “Sodding ancestors, what do they teach you on the surface?  You fight like a bleedin’ Archdemon!  Sweet bloody Stone, look at them all!”

Revan chuckled at the apt comparison.  “Tell me how to find Jarvia.”

“The base is below the city,” he said eagerly.  “Y-you can get to it through the wall of the third house on this row.  Put this token through the slot and it’ll open.”  He dug in one of his pockets and procured a bone with a marking etched in its surface.  He tossed it to her.  “Will…will you let me go now?”

“I think a life of crime might not be the best for you,” Revan lilted, examining the finger bone.  “I would hate to find you at Jarvia’s when I get there.  Perhaps you would do better on the surface.”

“R-really?” he stuttered in disbelief.  “Oh, thank you.  You’re a…a good person.  How do they say it?  The ancestors have shown their favor.  Bless you!”

The dwarf got to his feet and blew past her in a dead sprint, eager to leave the dwelling of death.  Revan shook her head; she was having fun, and that was not good.  She needed to show some restraint.  And decency.  She should not enjoy killing thugs that had had few alternatives.  She twirled the finger bone in her hand and made her way to the door that the Carta member had indicated.  It was, upon first inspection, a solid stone door, slightly out of place with the rest of the crumbling architecture.  There was one small hole, just big enough for a finger – or a finger bone.  Revan inserted the bone, and the door clicked open.  Revan pushed the door in, revealing a tunnel that led down.  It was oddly lit.  Revan closed the door behind her and grabbed her lightsabers, getting an uneasy feeling.  She made her way down the tunnel, which indeed seemed to lead directly under the city, and finally came to another door.  She pushed this one open only to reveal a room with a strip of fire running in the middle and a host of Carta enforcers.  One, a burly dwarf with a casteless tattoo, crossed his arms at seeing her.

“What’s the password?” he asked skeptically.

“Would a ‘please’ suffice?” she smiled sweetly.

“Looks like we have a martyr, boys,” the doorman grabbed his swords.

Revan sighed, “Why does ‘please’ never work…”

She ignited her blades, startling the Carta members, and with a flurry of light decapitated the bouncer.  The rest stared in horror.

“You have five seconds.  Run, or die,” she announced.  Two ran.  The rest hesitated.  “Time is up.”

She jumped sideways onto the wall and propelled herself off, spinning over the dwarves’ heads as she did, slicing through two of the remaining enforcers.  Her blades sizzled upon contact.  Most did not even have time to scream before they died.  The others were quickly dispatched by quick thrusts through their chests and abdomens, or by a twirl of the blade that loped off their heads.  Most did not even get the chance to raise their blades against her, and those that did were quick to realize that simple iron could not hold against a lightsaber.  It was not a fight; it was a slaughter.  She realized after the first few died with barely a gasp that to them, she must have been the equivalent of a dragon: near unstoppable and utterly destructive.  She almost felt bad as she cut them down.  But they stood between her and her target, and she had given them a chance to run.  Soon, she was in a room littered with corpses.  She tucked away a loose strand of hair and continued on through Jarvia’s base.

The entry room opened up to a maze of tunnels all running underneath Orzammar proper.  Most looked relatively new, though she was not sure given she had no Stone sense.  But, the labyrinth of stone was not helping her second sight, and she could not distinguish between Carta members and what may have been her quarry.  She would have to search all the tunnels, and all the rooms.  It was fortunate she had done nothing but read all day, otherwise she would have been exhausted just thinking about the search.  Resolving herself, she chose a direction at random, marking it in the stone wall with her lightsaber that she had come this way.  She knew how easily one could get lost in dwarven tunnels.

The first route she chose only led her to meet more Carta members.  Again, she tried proposing for them to flee instead of die by her hand, but these members were not interested in her offer.  Instead, they practically flung themselves onto her blades.  A few were smart enough to try and shoot at her with crossbows, but she easily dodged the bolts.  At least these provided more of a challenge than arrows, but they were less frequent on account of crossbows being notoriously slow to reload.  She cut through their bolts and then their bones, and suddenly the small band was dead.  The room they were guarding seemed to be a barracks of sorts.  Not jail cells.  Revan just hoped her initial hypothesis was correct, and Rica’s sister was alive and merely imprisoned.  She would find out, one way or another.

Once her chosen passage was cleared, she backtracked until she found her scorch mark.  Then, she chose a different path and repeated the procedure.  There were a lot of Carta members.  By all rules of combat, she should have been overwhelmed.  But often they crowded doorways in their eagerness to attack her, and she used this to dispatch them one at a time.  They were trained as thugs, not as warriors, and it was apparent by the ease with which she was able to move through the base.  She was slightly disappointed in this Jarvia.  She had no lookouts, no one to warn the other members of the Carta that she was coming, no strategy to deal with intruders.  Every gang member she encountered was surprised to see her and just as surprised that she had killed them.  Few had taken her offer to flee.  She was sure that at least one of them had run forward to let Jarvia know she was coming, but that was only by Revan’s mercy and not by design.  And poor planning like this did not bode well for the Carta’s business strategy either.

Finally, she entered a room that revealed itself to be a jail.  Unfortunately, it was guarded by the Carta’s chosen jailor, a leathery dwarf with an evil sneer, and his cronies.  The jailor snarled at her from the elevated platform that the cells were built on.  He gestured for his boys to get her.  Revan dodged their blades and sliced through those she parried, and her riposte cut through them easily.  Those she did not kill on her counter-attack she killed as she moved faster than they could follow and stabbed or slashed them before they could attempt another swing at her.  The jailor, furious at her slaughter of his men, charged her himself, losing his advantage of the higher ground.  She met his high attack with a stab through his throat.  He fell with a bloody gurgle as she pulled the blade free.  Then, the jail free of hostile Carta, she scanned the room.  And practically sighed in relief.

In one of the cells was an emaciated male dwarf with an overgrown beard and black hair that was in desperate need of a trim.  In another was a female dwarf, similarly starved, but with more muscle than the male.  Her short, mouse-brown hair was tangled and dirty, and a casteless tattoo was branded on her cheek, but her eyes were known to Revan.  The Jedi sheathed her lightsabers.

“Ancestors, what are those?” the man asked in awe.

“Better question: who wields them, and for what purpose?” the woman said, her voice fierce but kept in check.  This one had much anger held back.  Revan would hate to see it released.

“I am Revan,” she bowed her head to both of them, “and I was sent by your sister, Rica, to find you.”

“Rica sent you?” the woman’s voice softened at the mention of her sister.  “Is she okay?”

“Rica is fine, just concerned for you,” the Jedi assured her.  She went over to the jailor’s twitching body and searched his belt for the cell keys.  Upon locating them, she went to the cells and unlocked them, releasing the two dwarves.

“Thank you, Revan,” the man intoned.  “I’m Leske, and this is –”

“Natia,” the woman extended a hand, speaking for herself.  Revan took it.  The dwarf’s grip was strong for someone who had been kept in captivity for the last few months and starved.  “We owe you our lives, _salroka_.  Thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” Revan smiled.  “Now, I need to get you two out of here.”

Natia walked over to the jailor and grabbed his blade.  “No.”

Revan raised an eyebrow in confusion.  Leske looked at her in exasperation.  “We have a chance to get out of here with our lives!  What are you doing?”

“Jarvia needs to die,” Natia unstrapped some of the Carta’s armor and began putting it on herself.  “And I’m going to kill her.”

“You want to take down the Carta?” Revan asked.

“No; I want to run it.”

Revan grinned in amusement.  “You think you can run a crime syndicate?”

“Why not?  I read every document Beraht had, I know all his contacts.  I fought in the Proving and won.  I know every duster and every noble who’s fucking one,” she explained.

“Natia, you’re mad!  You can’t run the Carta!” Leske protested.  “Let’s just go home and we can figure this out later.”

“You think they won’t come looking for us in Dust Town, Leske?” Natia snapped at him.  “You think they won’t just drag us back here and do the deed this time?  And what about my mother and Rica?  You think they’ll be safe?”

Revan considered the new development.  “And you think you can run this operation better than Jarvia?”

“I hear what she’s been doing,” Natia glared at her.  “Guards talk, I know she’s been shaking things up in the Commons.  Pretty stupid.  Soon some noble or other is gonna take action against her because she’s disrupted their quiet, charmed life and they’re gonna raise an army to take out Dust Town, Carta or not.  Nah, the opportunity’s up there.”  She gestured up with her sword.  “On the surface.”

Revan pursed her lips.  “And you think I, a surfacer, want the Carta out on the surface?”

Natia shrugged.  “Every place with poor people’s got a criminal underground.  At least the Carta deal mainly in smuggling and not murder.  ‘Least they did when I joined.”

“This is madness!  Surfacer, please talk some sense into her,” Leske pleaded.

The Jedi regarded the determined dwarf.  “If I let you do this, and you take control of the Carta, no murder unless absolutely necessary.  No extortion.  No stealing from the needy.  And absolutely no slavery.”

“Sounds fair,” Natia said after a considerable pause.  “You got a deal, _salroka_.”

They shook hands again while Leske gaped in shock.  “Women!” he finally declared.

“You in or not, nug-head?” she bullied him.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked resignedly.

“Of course not,” Natia remarked, slapping him heartily on the back.  “Now, let’s go take out this bitch.”

Natia tossed two daggers to her partner and then offered a cuirass to both of them.  Leske accepted his wordlessly, but Revan just looked at her in confusion.  Natia frowned.

“You do realize you’re wearing robes, right?”

Revan looked down at herself and realized that in her hurry to get to Dust Town, she had forgotten to change out of her Jedi robes and Dalish garments.  All were now stained with blood from her encounter with the thugs in the abandoned house.

“Well, would you look at that.  It seems I am,” Revan remarked, then sighed.  “I hope the blood has not set in yet.  I love these robes.”

Leske stared at her.  “So you managed to get here through most of the Carta’s enforcers with no armor?”

The Jedi shrugged.  “I have fought through more wearing less.”

The dwarves exchanged worried glances but donned their stolen armor.  Revan waited patiently, and when they were ready, led the way out of the cartel jail.  She took out her lightsabers and held them at the ready.  Her two charges backed away cautiously.  Revan realized that she no longer had free reign to exercise her combat skills and instead would have to focus on keeping the dwarves alive.  Internally, she sighed, but part of her was grateful it would no longer be a slaughter.  They entered another room to be greeted by more Carta, and as Revan threw herself in front of the two dwarves to protect them, Natia addressed her gang members.

“Drop your weapons and surrender!” the dwarf’s voice echoed.  “Or this madwoman’ll chop off your manhoods and feed them to you.”

The Carta members hesitated, and Revan took the opening to disable them by slashing through their weapons.  Weapons were replaceable, limbs and hands and lives were not.  In moments, the enforcers found themselves holding useless weapons and faced with an opponent they could not hope to match.  They dropped the hilts and held up their hands in surrender, much more suppliant now that one of their own was ordering them too.  It seemed that Natia did indeed have some influence over them.

“You lot work for me now,” Natia stepped forward.  “Go get whoever else is still alive and start cleaning out the bodies.  Return ‘em to their families.”

There was no hesitation.  The Carta members ran past them, giving Revan and her thrumming blades a wide berth.  They pressed on.  The next group they encountered, one young member decided to run at Natia before Revan could intervene.  He quickly found himself impaled on her blade.  Her eyes were cold as she took his life.  The rest surrendered easily and went to join their comrades in cleaning out the bodies that Revan had left in her devastating march to the cells.  They encountered more and more Carta members as they approached what Revan assumed were Jarvia’s offices, but more and more seemed to surrender to them, and Natia seemed to grow bolder as they progressed.  Leske’s frown, however, grew deeper with every life they were forced to take due to their unwavering loyalty to Jarvia, or sometimes just to their own stupidity.  At last, they approached a door that was carved in more traditional dwarven patterns.  Natia motioned for them to halt.

“Jarvia’s most likely in here, if she hasn’t fled,” she explained.  “She’ll have her strongest warriors with her.”

“I can disable them fairly quickly if they are the same caliber as those we have met before,” Revan offered.

“Nah, these guys can actually fight, and they’ll know to avoid those flame sticks,” Natia waved her off.  “No, I’m gonna tell her to surrender.  Make a big scene.  She’ll refuse, then I’ll throw this –” she held up a throwing knife she had recovered from one unfortunate Carta member, “– right into her skull.  Then you two take out whoever still resists.”

“All right,” Revan said hesitantly, “but plans rarely survive first contact.”

Natia dismissed her.  “It’ll be fine, _salroka_.  Now, let’s get this over with.”

The dwarf took the lead, confidence exuding from every pore despite her gaunt frame.  She threw open the door hard enough that it shook, and again Revan was reminded that this woman was far stronger than she appeared.  Inside was Jarvia, surrounded on all sides by her guards.  Revan counted ten.  Jarvia herself stood proudly, arms crossed, certain that her men would protect her.  She was comely woman, with a casteless brand displayed prominently on her face with no attempt to hide it.  She bore two axes and several concealed weapons and was well armored.  She obviously had expected them, most likely warned by those Revan had let run.  She had regrets about that decision.

“So, Bhelen finally realized his throne means nothing if he can’t hold it, yet he still doesn’t bother to send his own men and sends a Warden instead,” Jarvia clucked her tongue.  Her recognition of Revan caused Leske to look at the Jedi in sudden terror, but Natia took it in stride.  “Well, you picked the wrong side, Warden.  It doesn’t matter who’s king, as long as there’s a queen!”

“I couldn’t agree more, Jarvia,” Natia smiled.  “And that queen’s gonna be me.”

“You?” Jarvia laughed.  “You’re nobody, a stupid duster who got caught fighting in the Proving and killed Beraht.  I should’ve put you down when I had the chance.”

“And I shoulda killed you along with him,” Natia hissed.  “But I’ll give you one last chance.  Yield, and I’ll spare your life.  Maybe even let you stay in the Carta.  Else, my Warden’ll kick your ass straight to the surface.”

Jarvia spit at her feet.  “I’d like to see you try.”

“Okay.”

Natia unveiled her throwing knife and with pinpoint accuracy lodged it straight in Jarvia’s forehead.  Revan had a brief moment to marvel at the fact that for once, something had gone according to plan, before it all fell apart.  Instead of yielding, Jarvia’s guards reacted in a frenzy and lunged straight toward Natia.  The dwarf had only a few heartbeats to roll to the side.  Luckily, Leske had been watching the guards, not Jarvia, and had been prepared.  As Natia dodged, Leske slid under one of the guards and stabbed him in the back.  Revan quickly jumped into the action, more concerned about preventing anyone from getting a clear shot at her dwarven allies than actually cutting down the Carta guards.  She whipped through them, using her stature to her advantage as she leapt over the dwarves’ heads and cut off their access to Natia and Leske.  The pair had obviously worked together for a long time, and their movements were as coordinated as Revan and Zevran’s.  They quickly realized that Revan was giving them an unusual amount of opportunities, and they began exploiting them.  Revan would slam her knee into one’s chest and send him backwards, where he would fall onto Leske’s daggers.  Natia would parry a blow, and Revan would cut under his exposed guard.   Leske would rush a guard, then tumble to the side and let Natia use the guard’s distraction to stab him clean through.  Soon, only two were left.  Both dropped their weapons in surrender.

“Bosk, Cad,” Natia nodded to them, “I’m glad you two saw reason.”

“’Course, Natia,” the one called Bosk whimpered.  “Wouldn’t want to tangle with you.  You’ve kicked my ass hundreds of times, remember?”

She regarded them coolly.  “Well, boys.  I’m leader of the Carta now.  And my first order of business is to have you two tell the rest of our members.”  Bosk and Cad exchanged glances.  “Now!  I won’t ask again!” she demanded.  With a quick salute, both ran off as fast as their legs could take them.

Natia turned to Revan.  “Warden, eh?”

The Jedi shrugged.  “This is sort of unofficial business.”

The dwarven woman chuckled.  “I’d like to see what you’re official business is, then.”

“Right now, securing a leader of Orzammar.  King Endrin is dead, and the Assembly is in gridlock between Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont,” Revan explained, sheathing her weapons.

“Shit, how much did we miss?” Leske wondered.

“And, what?  You support Bhelen?” Natia inquired.

“My companions do.”

Natia frowned.  “Wait, what happened to Trian and Duran?”

“Duran purportedly murdered Trian, though whispers say it was a set-up by Bhelen,” Revan reported.

“And how exactly is my sister mixed up in all this?”

Revan paused.  “Are you sure you wish to know?”

Natia nodded.  Sighed, Revan said, “She is Prince Bhelen’s concubine.”

“I knew it,” Natia growled.  “Rica told me some noble had taken an interest.  Thought it might be Bhelen.  Can’t believe she didn’t tell me though.”

 “So, what is next?” Revan crossed her arms.

“Been wondering that too,” Leske muttered.

Natia shot him a nasty glare.  “We take over the Carta.  Reorganize our resources.  Make new contacts.  Get out there.  Y’know, prevent some sod wanting the throne from wanting us dead to get it.  Then…we’ll see.”

“No murder, no extortion, no unethical stealing.  And no slavery,” Revan reminded her.

Natia extended a hand.  “Got it, Warden.  You ever need anything, you know how to reach us.  We owe you our lives.”

Revan grasped her hand firmly.  “It is Revan, actually.  And if either of you ever find yourselves on the surface, look me up.  Most know me by Dragonheart.”

“Holy shit…” Leske commented.  Even Natia blanched.  Apparently her story had even spread to Dust Town.

Revan bowed to each of them.  Then, with a quick slash of her lightsaber, took off Jarvia’s head.

“For Bhelen,” she explained, picking up the severed head by her hair.  “A nice coronation gift.”

 She tucked her blade away as the new leaders of the Carta stared at her in complete bemusement and proceeded out of the back entrance of the Carta base.  The exit was apparently a secret entrance, and it led out into some poor merchant’s shop.  She found herself standing in the back of the shop, surrounded by decent iron and steel weapons and armor sets that were designed more for the warrior caste than the nobility.  She straightened and made her way towards the entrance.  As she passed the merchant’s counter, the man jumped in shock, and when he saw the severed head in her hand, paled to a clammy white.

“Gah!” he exclaimed.  “By all the beards of my ancestors!  How did you…where did you come from?  Y-you made a hole in my wall!”

She tossed him a sovereign.  “That hole leads to a tunnel in the Carta’s hideout.  I suggest you keep that fact quiet and maybe put something a little less…conspicuous there.”

“It…it does?  Oh, sod it.  Just leave me alone.  I don’t want anything to do with this.”  The shopkeeper threw up his hands and went into the back, presumably where his domicile was connected, or perhaps more storage.

Revan shrugged, but made her way out of the shop.  In the streets of Orzammar, she discovered she was in the middle of the Commons – no wonder Jarvia had started making moves in this quarter.  She was directly linked to it.  Those passing her fortunately did not look up from their wanderings, so Revan set out back towards the Diamond Quarter.  At first, no one noticed her, but as she approached the Diamond Quarter the more well-off merchants hawking their wares grew quiet as she passed and stared openly.  Commoners spotted her and, shocked, moved very far away from her.  Finally, as she was about to enter the most prestigious of quarters, a guard tried to stop her, even though he was clearly confused by her appearance and why she was carrying a severed head out in the streets.  She only had to look at him menacingly for him to quickly let her by.  In the Diamond Quarter proper was where she began eliciting more interesting reactions.  The criers stopped their crying of the news to openly gawk.  Noble women shrieked in terror, and some even fainted.  Noble men fell back into their guards, who shuffled fearfully into some loose ring of protection.  It was unfortunate she had not brought her other blades.  Blood dripping from Jarvia’s neck would have been even more of a spectacle.

Finally, she made it to the Royal Palace.  The guards almost did not let her in, but her glare was enough to make them cower and open the door.  Inside, Bhelen’s second-in-command, Vartag Gavorn, stood guard outside of the royal chambers.  He quickly noticed the blood-spattered Jedi and very quickly after that saw the severed head.  He paled as well, losing his composure.

“I am here to see Prince Bhelen,” Revan announced.

Vortag hesitated.  “The Prince is currently indisposed…”

“I am sure he will be more interested in what I have to say,” Revan assured him.

Vortag, knowing this was a battle he would most certainly lose, stood aside.  Revan nodded to him as she passed.

Revan did not even bother knocking on Bhelen’s door.  Mainly because she wanted to employ the dramatic so the Prince would know that the Wardens were not a force to trifle with.  Partly because it had been too long since her last performance.  Sometimes a bit of theatricality was called for.  Other times it was subtlety.  With a prince who was toying with her and her companions and very obviously using them, theatrics were indeed called for.

Bhelen’s chambers were as grand as she expected.  The stone bed was large and covered with the finest fabrics from Orlais and Antiva and furs from Ferelden.  A desk stood in the antechamber, cluttered with documents and books and ink pots and quills.  Armor and weapons gleamed proudly from their stands.  Bhelen himself was seated at the desk, though he stood as she entered, and was surrounded by several dwarven guards.  Across from him, with her back to the door, was Rose, who turned in her seat to see the interruption.  Alistair, Zevran, Sten, Shale, and Morrigan stood to the sides, flanking her protectively.  Fuzzywuggins was at her feet obediently, though he growled at her entrance.  All were surprised to see her.  How fortuitous.  She liked an audience.

Revan tossed the head of the previous Carta leader towards Bhelen.  “Prince Bhelen.  I am Warden Dragonheart.  I brought you a gift – the head of the previous leader of the Carta.  I thought it would be a nice gift for your concubine, and I thought the fact that her sister now leads it would be a nice gift for you.”

Bhelen glared at her.  He was a younger dwarf, but his eyes were calculating.  She instantly believed all the rumors about him having framed his brother and almost believed those that claimed he had killed his father.  This was a ruthless leader.  But, he was a leader, and the fact that he did not cow from her blatant display bode well for his strength of will.

“That is quite the gift,” he said levelly, even as his guards backed away from the head in revulsion and shock.  “You did this by yourself?”

“I had some help,” she responded modestly, “though my companions did not know of my actions.”

They regarded each other for a moment, just as she and Loghain had regarded each other at Ostagar.  Bhelen, satisfied in her victory over him, gestured for a guard to take the gruesome gift well away from him.  Rose’s face, meanwhile, was horrified, as was Alistair’s.  Morrigan was barely containing her laughter.  Sten and Shale, meanwhile, bore expressions more closely resembling surprise than shock, as much as their faces would allow at least.  However, Zevran just regarded her curiously in a way that Revan could not read.

“I must say, Warden Dragonheart, you have excellent timing.  I was just remarking to your companions that Orzammar was being crippled by the infringement of these criminals.  I take it that this matter has now been resolved?” Bhelen tried to regain control.

“I do not think the Carta will trouble Orzammar nearly as much under its new leadership,” she assured him.

“Well, you’ve simply outdone yourself then.”  Bhelen was not pleased that she knew so much of his personal affairs, but he knew better than to say anything outright.  “You have done the city a great service.  I promise, as soon as I take the throne, I will send the troops you all need.”

Rose managed to get her initial revulsion under control and turned back to the dwarven prince.  “And how soon will that be?  The darkspawn don’t wait for politics.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say when,” Bhelen scowled.  “While many deshyrs will appreciate my ending Jarvia’s threat, Harrowmont still holds great loyalty.  We need something more…dramatic to shift the balance.”

“More dramatic than that?” Alistair asked dubiously.

“What are you getting at?” Rose shrewdly probed.

Bhelen resumed his seat at the desk.  “What do you know of the Paragon Branka?”

“She disappeared in the Deep Roads,” Rose said simply.

“She is the only Paragon in four generations and she turned her back on her responsibilities,” Bhelen simmered.  “A Paragon is like an ancestor born in this time.  If she returned, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly.  Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged.”

“So you hope to bring her back to endorse you for king,” Alistair remarked dryly.

Bhelen shot him a glare.  “I hope _you_ will bring her back to endorse me as king.”

Rose contemplated this new development.  “What makes you think she’s even still alive?”

“She had an entire house with her, dedicated to her protection.  With the number of ruins still intact, they could last for a long time,” Bhelen explained.  “And Harrowmont is looking as well.  It’s too risky to assume she’s dead, only to have him take credit for finding her.”

“And you think she would support you as king?” Revan interjected.

“I was hoping you could use your legendary charm to persuade her that the rightful king should take the throne,” Bhelen answered sarcastically.  “However, if the Deep Roads have…addled her wits, it might be best she not return before the kingship is decided.”

“Oghren will be so pleased his wife holds such high esteem,” she responded flatly.

“Are you suggesting that we should kill her?” Rose asked incredulously.

“I would never say that,” Bhelen said carefully.  “She is a Paragon; it is my duty to protect her.  On the other hand, we must respect her decisions…should she prefer to stay in the Deep Roads rather than help her rightful king take the throne, we must assist her.  By any means necessary.”

Revan laid a steadying hand on Rose’s shoulder; the young woman was obviously not comfortable with blatant murder.  Unfortunately, Revan was, and as much as she found it distasteful, she understood its importance.  She had had dedicated assassins for just such reasons.  Of course, one had been a droid with no sense of morality, but that was a moot point.

Getting herself under control again, Rose finally responded, “Fine.  We will find your Paragon Branka.”

“Then we will all go down in history as a Paragon’s saviors,” the dwarven prince remarked.  “So far, my men have traced Branka to Caridin’s Cross: an ancient crossroad lost to the darkspawn four centuries ago.  Her trail ends there.  Perhaps with your Warden’s expertise, you can find what my men could not.”

“And you did not think to tell her husband this information?” Revan demanded.

Bhelen met her gaze.  “Oghren has disgraced himself and is no longer a member of her house.  So no.”

“We will leave after we rest,” Rose rose from her seat.

Bhelen rose with her.  “You have my thanks.  Seek her in Caridin’s Cross.  I will try to delay the vote until you return.”

Rose gave a curt nod to the prince, turned on her heel, and with the air of a woman with a mission, strode out of the royal chambers, her loyal entourage in tow.  Revan lingered a moment longer, meeting the dwarf’s gaze once again.  Much passed between them in that moment.  And, satisfied, Revan turned to follow the young Cousland.

There was much left to do.


	18. Act XVIII

Act XVIII: Orzammar

Rose was not pleased.  Revan could tell from the scowl and the way Fuzzywuggins whined worriedly at her feet.  The young Cousland sat stoically in a stone chair in her chambers as Revan recounted her adventures of the past several days.  Alistair sat nearby polishing his armor, enraptured with the tale.  He even stopped his absentminded polishing when she recounted how she took out a squad of Carta members using only her hands and the advantage of the dark.

“You could have been killed,” Rose remarked sternly.

“I could be killed by many things,” Revan reminded her.  “The high dragon was a much larger threat than the Carta.”

“And you decided to turn the Carta over to a woman you know nothing about,” the girl accused her.

Revan frowned.  “If I had destroyed the Carta, it would only leave Dust Town and Orzammar in a state of chaos and uncertainty.  Many would perish.  The Carta provides for many there that cannot provide for themselves, and it fuels Orzammar’s economy by supplying it with goods that otherwise cannot be obtained.  It is the lifeline of Orzammar.  Inevitably, a new Carta would emerge without any real change in Orzammar, and the new organization may have been worse.  This way, at least, Bhelen can use his relationship with Natia’s sister as influence to control the Carta.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure how much I like the idea of Bhelen having control of the Carta,” Alistair mused.

The Jedi shrugged.  “He is ruthless, but he has his people’s best interests at heart.  At least, his actions and words so far have indicated this.  Far better than the stagnation that Harrowmont proposes.”

“I don’t like the idea that we are affiliated with criminals,” Rose complained.

“Are you forgetting that we travel with an accused murderer, an assassin, a bard, and an apostate?  And that we have repeatedly saved maleficarum and murderers?” Revan reminded her.

Rose’s eyes narrowed, but she knew the truth of her words.  “Fine.  Just…next time, could you give us some warning?  I don’t like being interrupted by a bloodied woman bearing a severed head while in the middle of political negotiations.”

Revan chuckled.  “I will do my best to scale back my theatrics.  And I apologize for not being able to tell you of my plan.  It was…very spontaneous.”

Rose shook her head in exasperation before bidding Revan good night.  They had traveled back from Aeducan Thaig with haste, and everyone, excepting Shale, was exhausted.  The golem, meanwhile, was being examined with great enthusiasm by the Shapers and would be indisposed until their departure.  The look in Shale’s rocky face had bordered on pained as the scholarly dwarves had begun examining it and insisted of Rose that they be allowed to observe it for as long as possible.  Rose had agreed without consulting Shale, but the golem had already been swarmed and had no chance to protest before being led away rather forcefully.  Revan had only laughed and assured Shale that it was only a few hours, and then the golem would be allowed the honors of crushing the first darkspawn they encountered on their trek, a promise which had made the surly Shale slightly less resistant.

Revan debated meditating, as she was teetering on the edge of fatigue, but there was still much to do to prepare for their journey.  She was organizing her thoughts as she exited Rose’s chambers when she was greeted by Zevran, leaning against the wall opposite, smirking wickedly as he carved an apple with his dagger.

“Well, that was quite a welcome,” he intoned, eating the slice off the dagger’s blade.

“Were you expecting something different?” Revan smiled.  “A bouquet of flowers and a kiss on the cheek, perhaps?”

“A warm bath and a bottle of wine would have been sufficient,” Zevran stretched.  “That was quite a journey we made.”

Revan laughed.  “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, then.  However, I do know a good place for a drink.”

“You?  Drinking?  This I have to see,” the assassin mused.

“Too bad you missed it,” Revan grabbed his hand and started to lead him out of the Assembly.  “But there is someone who is drinking that I need to speak with.”

Zevran willingly followed her, even despite his claims of exhaustion.  She led the elf out of the Diamond Quarter and down to the Commons, ending their jaunt in front of Tapster’s.  Zevran eyed her suspiciously as he saw the dive, but she merely winked at him and headed inside.  She heard him sigh behind her, followed by the sound of his footsteps as he headed up the steps after her.  Inside, the bartender greeted her with a grunt and told her that as much as he appreciated her business, he would cut her off this time at ten pints.  Zevran gaped at her in shock.  The bartender then gestured to where Oghren was, and Revan tipped him a silver.

Oghren was idling over a tankard near the swill bucket, slowly teetering like a gyroscope from the alcohol.  His red beard was glistening with drops of spilt ale; he looked to be several pints deep at this point in the night.  He looked up at Revan’s approach and grinned widely.

“Well, well, well.  Couldn’t get enough of old Oghren, eh?  Care to tell me how I ended up in my own bed the other night?” the dwarf slurred at her.

“Magic, dear Oghren,” Revan winked at him.  “May I introduce you to one of my illustrious companions, Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows?”

“Formerly of the Crows,” the elf corrected her.

The dwarf, even drunk, eyed them curiously.  “You certainly have some strange bedfellows, Warden.”

Zevran coughed awkwardly and turned his face away.  Revan merely smiled.  “You have yet to meet all of them.  They get stranger.  Regardless, I come bearing a gift for you.”

“Oh?” Oghren lowered his tankard.

Revan pulled out the map that she had swiped from Rose’s desk.  “A little gift given to our leader by the prince himself.  A map to the last known location of your wife, somewhere known as Caridin’s Cross.”

Oghren stared at the piece of parchment in awe.  “Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, but it was lost centuries ago.  The smith Caridin build it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil.  As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig.  Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it.  All she knew was that it was past Caridin’s Cross.  But no one’s seen that thaig in five hundred years.”

“It must be your lucky day then,” Revan said.  “We are leaving in the morning.”

“Ah, Warden, I could just about sodding kiss you!” the dwarf exclaimed.  “This is the best news I’ve had in years!”

“I would prefer if you did not,” Revan chuckled.  “What would your wife think when we find her?”

“Probably, ‘Oghren ya bleedin’ bastard, what took you so long?’” he chuckled to himself.

Revan reached and grabbed the tankard out of his flailing hands before pouring the contents into the swill bucket.  “If you are coming, then starting now, no alcohol.  At least until this is over.  We all need to be alert in the Deep Roads.  Understood?”

“Aye aye, ma’am!” Oghren gave a fake salute.  “I better get my things.  And prob’ly sober up.  Gotta find my axe…where in the name of the Ancestors’ tits did I put that thing…”

Oghren started staggering back toward his house.  Revan watched him go, making sure he did not stop at the bar on his way out.  Zevran, meanwhile, shook his head.

“That was Branka’s husband?” he asked flatly.

“Indeed,” she responded.

“Whatever did she see in him…” the elf mused.  “Now, what about that drink I was promised?”

Revan giggled and led him to the bar.  They had barely sat down when an anonymous patron paid for their drinks; word of her exploits with the Carta had spread like wildfire.  They toasted to the dead and drank.  The next round was also bought by another patron.  After toasting a sufficient amount to get slightly tipsy, they began exchanging stories of the past few days.  She was able to recount some of the more gruesome and lewd details to him, details she had prudently left out in her retelling to Rose.  When she had finished her tale, Zevran began telling of their adventure to Aeducan Thaig.

“So I’m pretty sure Shale is in love with Sten,” Zevran concluded.  Revan’s head rested on the bar, but her shoulders were heaving with laughter.

She managed to raise her head just enough to turn to Zevran and asked, barely stifling her giggling, “Is the sentiment returned?”

“Well, given that he was remarking on Shale’s battle prowess and strength with some reverence and had started calling the golem, ‘ _Kadan_ ’, I would say it’s a safe bet,” Zevran commented.

Revan threw her head back with raucous laughter.  Zevran smiled at her mirth.  “I wonder how that would work…”

“Let us pray we never find out,” the assassin shuddered.  Revan toasted the sentiment.

They continued talking into what passed for night in Orzammar.  Zevran asked her why she had not accompanied them to the thaig.  Grimacing, she told him more about her first time in Thedas, how she had allied herself with a darkspawn that had called himself the Architect.  And, inevitably, how she had betrayed him.  Revan was sure that, if she were to trespass too long in the Deep Roads, he would seek her out to determine why, exactly, she had returned.  Zevran shivered at the thought of an intelligent darkspawn.  The Jedi carefully neglected to mention her thoughts on his true nature.  She asked more about his life in the Crows and in Antiva, things he was more than happy to speak of.  It helped distract her from the looming thought of having to descend into the Deep Roads once again.  Finally, the bartender cut her off, and, leaning on each other, the pair returned to the Assembly.  Ever the gentleman, Zevran walked her to her quarters first before returning to his.  It might have had something to do with the fact that he had drank significantly less than her.  The Jedi waved the thought off and collapsed on the hard, stone bed.  The next weeks would be a challenge, and the closer she was to the Archdemon, the worse the dreams would be.  Best to sleep now, before entering the darkness of the Deep Roads.

* * *

 

She loathed the Deep Roads.

Being underground made her feel trapped, claustrophobic, and cut off from the Force.  The air was stale and still.  The darkness permeated everywhere the dwarves had not touched, and even then everything that the dwarves had touched was illuminated by the dull glow of lava or the sickly light of lyrium lamps.  The construction at least was sturdy, but many sections had collapsed or fallen to ruin through the ages.  The rock prevented her from seeing very far with her Force-given sight, and the darkness prevented her from seeing very far with her normal sight.  Worst of all, her skin continually crawled from the ever-present, ever-spreading corruption of the Blight.  The globs of darkened, sticky taint dripped from the walls in some sections, hanging like mucus from the ceiling, sticking to the underside of their boots.  Every nerve in her body was alert, constantly.  Each day they traveled, it became harder and harder for her to meditate.

The map to Caridin’s Cross was at least, for the most part, accurate.  Of course, some of the passages marked on the map had collapsed from the passage of time, so they had to find detours, but otherwise it was fairly easy going.  The roads nearest Orzammar had been kept fairly clear of darkspawn, and the tunnels farther out were clear only due to the fact that they had been summoned by the Archdemon to wherever he was gathering his forces.  Revan had the sneaking suspicion that they were getting closer to him, however.  Revan and Morrigan alternated between keeping a magelight alive to help with their passage.  They had been lent two tamed brontos to carry supplies for them, and both obediently trod behind the group, encouraged by Morrigan; Revan stayed far away from them as to not scare them.  Rose and Oghren led the way, the Warden due to her commanding presence and Oghren since he at least had some of what the dwarves called “Stone sense”, or an innate connection to the Stone.  The Jedi had her own theories about what their sense truly was, but she kept her thoughts to herself.  The warrior was not the one to discuss it with; in truth, one of the Shapers, a young apprentice by the name of Valta whom she had met while examining the dwarven records, would have been the one to ask.  Apparently, she had one of the keenest Stone senses in recent memory.  Part of the Jedi wished they had brought her along with them, as she did not trust the carved structures of the old dwarves.

At least the rest of the companionship was good.  Zevran and Sten were her constant companions.  Both had seemed to forget their previous spats with her, and Zevran seemed almost jovial, while Sten seemed more relaxed than he had been in Haven.  Perhaps it was because they were now back to securing treaties.  Their current task made more sense to him, and the Qunari had surprised the Jedi by demonstrating his understanding of finding the Paragon in order to secure the throne for a king.

“An army needs a commander, and a people need a ruler,” he had stated.

But it also might have been the fact that Sten and Shale seemed to get along swimmingly.  The golem often walked with the Qunari, asking him questions on his faith and his philosophy.  He would also tell it of battles he had fought, which the golem enjoyed greatly.  Shale declined sharing anything about itself, though, since it could not remember much past being frozen in Haven for thirty years.  Despite this, the two seemed to get along well, and spent as much time in companionable silence as they did talking.  Revan thought it interesting that, despite Sten’s aversion to magic and its creations, he and the artificial golem had a bond over their mutual aversion of mages – excepting Revan, they assured her.  Any time Shale tried to insinuate anything against the Jedi, Sten shot it a warning glare; he had come to respect the General, despite her fits of rage and her dangerous abilities and her monstrous past.

If Morrigan was not helping scout ahead for safe passages or drawn into conversations by Revan or Rose, she had her nose buried in the grimoire Revan had brought back for her from Flemeth’s hut.  Every once and a while, she would aim a pointed glance at Revan, but she never said anything.  Revan guessed that she was processing the information in its faded, worn pages.  The tome was old.  The leather binding had been replaced many times, yet the current iteration was still cracked with age.  It was written in an archaic form of Galactic Basic that Revan could barely decipher, and then only because of her extensive training in the Jedi Archives as an apprentice.  She guessed that Morrigan was struggling discerning its contents.  Even then, its contents were…strange.  And very, very dangerous.

Rose and Alistair were usually found at the front of the party, but every once and awhile one or both would drop back to converse with the others.  Alistair had many questions for his General, and with a smile she would often turn them around and ask him his opinions.  She pestered him about what he would do if he was in Bhelen’s place, how he would handle the dysfunctioning Assembly and what would he do to help the dwarven people.  She prodded him about what issues Orzammar had, both socially and economically.  He was reluctant at first, having gotten used to the comfort of differing to Rose during the party’s separation, but he quickly fell back into routine.  He had grown more apt in the preceding weeks.  Revan attributed his progress to his exposure to Rose, who was practical yet altruistic.  The young noblewoman had a surprisingly shrewd mind, as was apparent by her choice to support Bhelen, or her decision to spare Avernius, a known bloodmage, and force him to continue his research for the Grey Wardens.  She still had her ideals and morals, like her disagreement with supporting the existence of a cartel, but at least she was reasonable.  Alistair was more stubborn, and Revan had been forced to spend an afternoon lecturing him on the role of the criminal underground in any major city and even in a country as a whole.  However, he was learning.  And at a faster pace than Morrigan gave him credit for.

When the Jedi was not embroiled in a lesson with the reluctant Warden, she was often sharing stories with Zevran and Oghren.  The surly dwarf became more and more sober with every passing day, and as such he became more and more focused on locating his lost wife, but that did not stop him from hanging on Revan’s every word during one of her tales of the Mandalorian War while trying to pretend to be looking for evidence of his house and spouse.  Zevran was always interested in her tales, and would occasionally interject with one of his own.  At one point, he accidentally revealed the origin of his relationship with the Rivaini pirate Isabela, the gorgeous, dark-haired beauty studded with gold and whose eyes burned like Revan’s used to before she had committed herself to Carth.  Apparently, he had met the enchanting duelist in the market of Antiva City, where Isabela was the imprisoned wife of a rich merchant and went by the name of Naishe.  They had, much to Zevran’s discomfort in admitting, struck up a torrid love affair.  The elven assassin had taught the Rivaini how to wield a dagger, and Naishe had given him access to the manor so that he could carry out his contract to kill her husband.  She had left the night of the assassination with two of his daggers and the clothes on her back and stolen one of her husband’s ships.  Every once and awhile, he would run into the smuggler and they would catch up.  He assured Revan, with an uncharacteristic blush, that his affair with Isabela had been purely physical.  Revan assured him in return that she did not mind his past love life, as hers had been undoubtedly more sordid.  Oghren had given her a queer side glance at the comment, but refrained from asking her to elaborate.  Zevran too looked like he wanted to interrogate her, but something held him back.

Their rests were a different story, however.  The nightmares, as Revan had predicted, slowly got worse.  She only slept the first rest after approximately a day of walking, though it was difficult to measure time in the tunnels; the following rest, Urthemiel’s unnatural eyes were searching for her, and she awoke in a cold sweat.  She refused to sleep after that, telling herself that it was too dangerous for her to open her mind to the Archdemon’s in the realm of dreams.  The truth, however, was that she was scared.  The Archdemon was much stronger than her, a truth she was reluctant to acknowledge.  She feared, through the glimpses into his alien mind, that she would not be able to protect her friends from him.  She would fail to redeem herself.  So, she meditated, shielding her mind and drifting along the currents of the Force.  Even that, however, was difficult, because the Deep Roads were a dreadful place.  Small creatures abounded, but they were always desperate.  The Blight seeped through everywhere.  And somewhere, all around or very far away, it was difficult to tell, was a presence more enormous and more ancient than Revan could comprehend.  She did not try to probe it.

A few rests in, Rose became restless as well.  Since the girl did not have the Jedi training to be able to meditate instead of sleep, she often stared into the fire, hoping the crackling of the flames would ease her mind and put her to sleep.  Eventually, Revan joined her, and in hushed tones they talked.  They had not had much time since Ostagar to just chat, and the girl’s spirits improved after her horrid dreams, though the bags under her eyes remained.  They talked about family and duty, of love and marriage, of death and guilt.  Rose was exceptionally bright, Revan realized.  Though she may not have been exposed much to the courts, she had not been lax in her studies.  They talked about the Landsmeet, and Rose discussed which nobles they could count on, which could most likely be swayed to their side, and which would be staunch supporters of Loghain.  The girl demonstrated her awareness that Alistair would be a contentious candidate for the throne, and expressed her initial concerns about Queen Anora, who was technically still the monarch of Ferelden, though Loghain had named himself regent as her father.  Revan could see the weight of their task resting on the battlemaiden’s shoulders, but she bore it well; the others had no idea the stress she was experiencing.  Her steady presence and calm demeanor had kept their merry band together and prevented them from panicking, and all who met her were confident that with her, the Blight could be defeated.  It had been apparent at the Circle, and with the Dalish, and even now as she negotiated with the dwarves.  Revan was there to reassure her and commend her for her bravery and wisdom; she told Rose in no uncertain terms that she was doing admirably.  Surreptitiously, Revan lulled Rose to sleep each night with the help of the Force, and through some mental exertion tried to shield the minds of her fellow Wardens from the probing consciousness of the Archdemon.  Alistair, of course, usually just pretended to be asleep while they talked, knowing that Rose needed reassurance not just from him.  Revan tried to help him sleep through the nightmares, too.

The third day they encountered their first darkspawn.  It was scrawny, a runt that had been left behind by the main force to stand guard near Orzammar and deter the dwarves from wandering out.  Their accompanying dwarf cut it down easily, his massive battleax cleaving the creature in twain with little effort, its black ichor spraying around the tunnels.  The group shielded their faces and kept their mouths firmly closed; darkspawn blood would corrupt them quickly if swallowed, and Revan’s warning about what had happened to Lyna echoed in the party’s minds.  After, they encountered a token resistance by the darkspawn, but the tunnels were conspicuously empty.  Occasionally, when they made camp, a group of deepstalkers, reptilian bipeds with needle teeth arrayed like a lamprey, would try to ambush them and scavenge the party’s food, but they were quickly cleared by the ferocity of the warriors.  Revan tried to limit her use of the Force and of magic on such occasions as to not frighten the pack brontos and to save her strength, as the lack of sleep was slowly starting to take its toll on her.

It was the fifth day in the Deep Roads when they finally came across Caridin’s Cross.  The first indication they had was that the roads were gradually getting wider, and sign posts written in an old dialect started to appear.  Ancient dwarven artifacts, broken pots and decaying wagon wheels and cracked stone tablets and the occasional tarnished and grimy coin and jewelry, collected on the side of the dwarven highway, left where their owners had abandoned them centuries ago in their flight.   It was a large crossroads, apparently the largest recorded, and historically connected Orzammar to many of its vassal thaigs.  Upon seeing the collection of sign posts and the widening highway and towering columns, Oghren looked around with wonder.

“Caridin’s Cross!” he announced, reading the plaques and coming to the same conclusion as the Jedi.  “I can’t believe Bhelen actually tracked this place down.  This used to be one of the biggest crossroads in the old empire.  You could get anywhere from here.  Including Ortan Thaig.”

“What’s so important about Ortan Thaig?” Rose asked out of curiosity, knowing little about the dwarves and their history.

“It’s the home of Caridin, the Paragon who made the Anvil,” Oghren explained patiently.  “He was an Ortan before he founded his own house, and even then, he spent most of his time in their thaig.  Branka figured it was the best guess for where the Anvil was located.”

Rose examined their surroundings.  This was the most Oghren had spoken since they had departed.  “Do you know anything else about the Anvil?”

The sober dwarf shrugged.  “No one but Caridin ever really knew more than that it had some kind of Stone-blessed power.  Every golem who ever ranged across the empire was hammered on the steel of that Anvil, but no one ever knew exactly how they were made.  But Branka was sure she could find out.”

“And do you see any sign of her yet?”

“Not a one, but trust me, we will once we’re on the path to the old Ortan Thaig,” he said optimistically.  “She was going to Caridin’s home.”

“Well then, let’s go,” Rose ordered.  “Start looking for the road to Ortan Thaig.  Oghren, Revan, you two are the only ones who can read ancient dwarven.  Be alert.”

Revan smiled and gave the girl a mock salute.  She had told Rose in their late-night talks that she had learned how to read the scratched, faded, and archaic signs in her first journey to Thedas out of necessity; she had spent two weeks wandering the Deep Roads aimlessly before finding the Architect, who had taught her the letters.  Oghren had demonstrated that, despite his blustering manner, he was quite learned, a side effect of having married a genius.  Revan took the lead, Oghren accompanying her, and began scouting slightly ahead of the group.  Even though they had met few darkspawn, there were many dangers in the Deep Roads.  The dwarves had left clever traps in their wake, and many creatures, known and unknown, hid in the shadows.  Which is why it was surprising to both her and Oghren when the first signs of life they encountered were a group of heavily armed dwarves, obviously from Orzammar.  Revan cursed in a half dozen languages her inability to sense anything while surrounded by the Stone.

The thugs, for they were obviously thugs by the casteless brand under their eyes contrasting with the decent armor they wore, saw Revan and Oghren at the same time as the odd couple clamored over the rubble and noticed them.  The leader, distinguished by his larger weapon, crossed his arms and glared at them appraisingly.

“Well, look what we have here,” he mocked them, “some of Bhelen’s new toadies…let’s show them who’s king!”

Revan rolled her eyes at the silly insult.  She had heard better taunts slung across the battlefield by the Mandalorians, and even by some of the Republic soldiers.  Carth had had an impressive list of jabs reserved for when he got truly angry.  Revan drew her lightsabers as the goons drew their own weapons, but as soon as she ignited them the casteless balked.  She fell upon them in a flurry, leaving Oghren far behind her.  She slashed the leader across the chest as he was bringing down his maul, and the hammer fell to the ground along with its owner.  The next dwarf fell without a head, and the third fell screaming as his arms fell separately to either side of him, the flesh on his shoulders smoking from the cauterizing blades.  Revan cut through the others with just as much effort, a single bead of sweat falling from her forehead.  These thugs were no match for her and her reflexes; they had not even brought a mage to counter her.  A band of cutthroats were little challenge for her.  However, she left one alive, only dismantling his weapons before aiming a blade pointedly at his throat.

“Go tell your master that the Grey Wardens do not tolerate interference in their dealings,” Revan said calmly, her voice steel.

The dwarf in front of her, a dirty fellow with stringy, mousy hair and terrified eyes, nodded nervously, his knees visibly shaking.  As soon as Revan lowered her lightsaber, he ran off as if his life depended on it.  He tripped, fell on his hands, and immediately pushed himself up and stumbled forward into the shadows, determined to get as far away from the Jedi as possible.  Oghren, who had not moved from his position in front of the rubble, just shook his head.  He had not unsheathed his battleax.

“Ancestors, woman, you’re a damn demon,” he commented as the sound of their party approaching reached them.  “Where’d you even learn how to fight like that?”

Revan winked at him.  “Let us just say I raised in a place much like a Chantry, where I was trained as a priest, mage, and Templar.”

Oghren stared at her in open confusion as Rose clambered over the rubble and immediately began questioning them as to why she had heard screaming.  The bodies of the dwarves apparently were not a sufficient answer for the young Warden, so Revan explained that Harrowmont was trying to discourage their pursuit of the Paragon.  Rose rubbed her temples in annoyance.  Alistair grimaced in distaste and Zevran looked wholly disappointed with the attempt, obviously quite sure he could have done a better job of it.  Sten merely looked on in contempt, Shale was statuesque, and Morrigan was indifferent, her nose still buried in her mother’s grimoire.

The two scouts headed out ahead again, the rest of the party trailing behind.  Interested, as that was the first time Oghren had seen Revan fight, he began asking the Jedi about her strange Chantry-like order.  Revan tried to answer his questions to the best of her abilities, but explaining the Force to the dwarf was difficult, as they had little grasp of magical theory.  Dwarves were connected to the Force, unlike the Fade, but it was a weak connection; Revan had read of races with a resistance to the Force, and dwarves seemed to fall into this category.  Oghren found it curious that her order had trained its disciples in all three professions, even though they did not spread religion or negate powers like the Templars were trained to do.  He also found it odd that the only weapons they used were lightsabers, although he found their configurations curious.  After an hour or so of climbing around the rubble of the crossroads and traversing tunnels both constructed and natural, Revan located a sign for Ortan Thaig in a lull in Oghren’s questions and comments.  They waited for the party to catch up.  All of them spent a few hours resting in the relative safety of the crossroads, before Rose led them down the road toward the lost thaig of House Ortan.

* * *

 

“By the tits of my ancestors, Ortan Thaig,” Oghren swore, hands on his hips as he stood on a pile of rubble and observed the ruins of the once grand city.  “I never thought I’d see this place in the flesh.”

“Neither did I,” Revan remarked sourly, the faint memories she had been gifted from Duncan flashing in her mind’s eye.  He and his companions had once been trapped by a demon possessing the skeletal remains of a dwarven king here, taken into the Fade just as she had been by the sloth demon in Kinloch Hold.  The place was dangerous, and Revan could honestly say she would rather be stuck in a crypt on Korriban than in this place.

“I can see Branka all over this place,” the dwarf continued, oblivious to her scowl, examining a nearby column.  “She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel – check their composition.  If she was still here, though, she’d have sentries out by now.”

Rose looked where Oghren was looking, at a small notch carved in a stone pillar lining the wide avenue.  “What can you tell me about these ruins?”

Oghren grunted, tearing his eyes away from the tiny mark that validated his hopes.  “This was Caridin’s home thaig.  He was an Ortan before he got raised to Paragon.  Even stayed here when he could have had his own house.  I guess he didn’t want to move his people to Bownammar.”

Revan shuddered at the name.  That place was even worse than here.  Rose glanced between her and the dwarven warrior.  “What’s Bownammar?”

“The city of the damned,” Revan hissed.

“The City of the Dead,” Oghren corrected her.  “Caridin built it to honor the Legion of the Dead, but it was more like a sodding mausoleum than anything.  Of course, that was all before he built the Anvil.  After that, he was the city’s pet genius until he angered the king and fell into disfavor.”

“There was a city here?” Rose asked out of curiosity.

“No, no, there was a thaig here, the Ortan Thaig,” he treated her as if she was a small child.  “Bownammar is north and west of here, but that’s not important.  Or at least, I hope it isn’t.  The City of the Dead is known as the Dead Trenches since the darkspawn conquered it.  Much of the Legion was destroyed when the fortress fell.”

“And you have no idea where this Anvil is?” Rose frowned.

“No one does.  At the time, Ortan Thaig was almost part of the main city.  No one bothered to mark where the Anvil was stored,” he shrugged again.  “Now, it’s impossible to know if it’s been moved or even destroyed.  But trust me.  If we find it, we find Branka.”

“What if your Branka and everyone died?” Morrigan raised her head from her book, earning a reproachful glare from all present.

“Well, aren’t you a sodding bright spot today?” Oghren remarked sarcastically.  “If everyone’s dead, there’d be evidence of a major battle, wouldn’t there?  Three hundred or so dwarves don’t just fade away.”

Rose shot the witch a baleful look.  “All right, this thaig looks to be rather large, so let’s split up and see if we can find anything.  Sten, you go with Shale.  Oghren, you get Zevran.  Revan, you take Morrigan.  Meet back here in three hours.”

The Qunari and golem seemed content with their assigned pair, while the elf and the dwarf glared at each other with suspicious, narrowed eyes.  Morrigan looked somewhat surprised that she had been paired with anyone at all, least of all Revan.  Though, casting an annoyed glance at the happy Warden couple and rolling her eyes, her surprise faded rather quickly.  As the others split off in random directions, climbing the rubble or exploring the side tunnels that led to unused sections of the city, Morrigan secured the brontos as Revan cast a light that would expire in three hours, a sign to the others to return.  If the others wandered too far, it would be of little use, but it was something to keep track of time in the monotonous gloom of the Deep Roads.  Then, the two mages departed, Morrigan taking the lead as Revan tried to not think about the horrors Duncan had encountered here.

They continued in silence for a while, brushing aside old cobwebs and searching amongst piles of broken stone and blackened bones for evidence of recent activity.  It was Morrigan who began speaking.

“You’ve read it, I presume?” she began without preamble.

“Yes,” the Jedi admitted honestly.  There was no sense in dancing around the issue.

Morrigan’s mouth narrowed to a thin line.  “The contents are…disturbing, to say the least.  More disturbing than her false grimoire.”

“You mean the fact that her abilities seem to be far more powerful than either of us anticipated?  Yes, I agree,” Revan also grimaced.

“Did she use those abilities against you?  When you fought?” Morrigan asked.

Revan bit her lip, considering how to answer.  The silence hung heavy in the eerie tunnels, accentuated by the sound of their breathing and the echoes of their footsteps.  “In truth, I chose not to fight her.”

The young witch turned on her, her yellow eyes flaming in rage.  “You did what?” she screamed.

“I did not fight her,” Revan repeated.  “I did not kill her.”

Morrigan stared at her in shock.  “I thought I could trust you.  I thought you understood.”

Revan grabbed the girl by her shoulders.  She was surprisingly thin.  “Morrigan, I do understand.  I am your friend.  But trust me when I tell you, killing her would have accomplished nothing, and would have endangered Zevran.  You know the amulet she wore when she took us in after Ostagar?”

“Yes…” Morrigan shied away from her, angry and confused, but stopped at the mention of the amulet.

“She was not wearing it when we returned,” Revan told her.

“That could mean anything,” Morrigan dismissed her.

Revan fixed her with her one good eye.  “Is that what her grimoire tells you?”

The Chasind girl thought back to her readings.  Revan knew which section she was thinking of.  Flemeth had spent a few pages describing in detail how one could bind a portion of one’s soul to an object, and through the survival of the object, ensure one’s own survival.  Flemeth had told Revan as much when they had first met, when the Witch of the Wilds had insinuated that she had sent a copy of her soul to the Republic to wrap up Revan’s unfinished business.  Revan now knew that Flemeth had lied to her, as it would have been impossible for her to have gotten something into Republic space, but it did not change the fact that it was possible for the ancient witch to split her soul.  And Revan was sure she had, in preparation for Morrigan turning on her.

Morrigan looked away, having come to the same conclusion as Revan.  Her yellow eyes, which Revan normally associated with the Dark Side, were calm now, even reflective.  Despite Alistair’s misgivings and Leliana’s dirty looks, the witch was no more than a young girl still learning about the world and about her role in it.  She liked the pretty baubles the merchants hawked and had looked in envy at the fine ladies in Denerim and the Diamond Quarter.  She showed genuine affection for animals, sneaking Fuzzywuggins scraps of meat from supper and tending carefully to the brontos, checking their hooves at every rest and making sure they were always fed and watered.  She softened at the sight of Rose and Alistair together, but only when she thought no one was paying her any mind.  Morrigan was a kind girl, even if her demeanor was surly and tactless.  She reminded Revan in some ways of when Revan had been an apprentice.  The apostate was special.

After a while, their search still fruitless except for the discovery of the monolithic statues of old dwarven Paragons across the underground river, Morrigan sneaked a glance at the Jedi.  “You mentioned being my friend.”

“I did,” Revan confirmed.

“Did you mean it?” Morrigan asked, her vulnerable side making a rare appearance.

The Jedi stopped and looked the girl full in the face.  “Yes, I did.  I am your friend, Morrigan, and will remain so.  I do not know if you would like a friend such as me, but you have me if you desire.”

The girl’s mouth opened, gaping as she tried to find the words.  “I suppose I do not understand.  Of all the things I could have imagined would have resulted when Flemeth told me to go with you, the very last would have been that I would find in you a friend.  Perhaps even a sister.”

Revan smiled warmly at the girl.  “You are a bright young woman, Morrigan.  I value your friendship.  I am sorry I could not do what you asked of me, but it was beyond my abilities and would have done nothing.  I hope you will forgive me.”

Morrigan smiled wanly.  “I think I am beginning to understand, though her true nature eludes me.  I realize that she is more than she appears now.  In fact, she may not even be human anymore, if she ever truly was.”

“Once, perhaps,” Revan concurred.  “She is more now.  Something else.”

“An Archdemon?” the witch asked.

The Jedi shook her head.  “No.  She tried to deceive me into thinking she was, to develop kinship and trust.  But it was a lie.”

Morrigan chewed on her words.  “I forgive you.  Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Revan took her hand and squeezed it.  “Thank you for your understanding.  If she ever comes for you, however, know that I will stand with you, without question.”

“Revan?” the Chasind asked.  “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course,” the Jedi responded.  She anticipated a question on the Jedi, or perhaps her deal with the Archdemon, or maybe even on Zevran.

“Why did you really join the Grey Wardens?”

The Jedi paused.  The water under the old stone bridge churned wildly, glowing faintly from the veins of lyrium beneath it.  “I wanted to redeem myself.”

“You could have done that without becoming a Grey Warden,” Morrigan countered.  “You talk of returning to your beloved, amongst the stars.  But you know that you cannot; the taint will take you eventually.”

Revan’s blood turned cold.  It was true.  “Do you know why Grey Wardens are necessary to end a Blight?”

“No.”

“It is a closely guarded secret in the order,” Revan continued.  “They do not tell their recruits, and for the most part only tell their most senior Wardens in the event that a Blight does occur.  After all, who would join the Grey Wardens if they learned that death is inevitable upon joining?  You see, Morrigan, Grey Wardens are unique.  The Joining involves the blood of an Archdemon and a darkspawn, effectively making the Warden appear to the darkspawn as one of their own.  When an Archdemon is slain, its soul flees its failing body and seeks a new host, usually a darkspawn under its control, as the darkspawn have no soul.  It will find the nearest host.  If a Grey Warden slays it, however, its soul will try to inhabit the Warden.  The souls of the Archdemon and the Warden clash, and both cease to exist in this plane.  The Warden sacrifices their life to end the life of the Archdemon and end the Blight.”

Morrigan stared at her in barely concealed horror.  “And what does this have to do with you joining?”

“I have part of the Archdemon’s soul,” Revan explained.  “As such, I cannot kill him, but he cannot kill me.  However, if I am present when he is slain, the part of his soul within me will call to him, and as I am a Grey Warden, he will come, sensing my blood.  He will try to inhabit me instead of Rose, or Alistair, or any other Warden.”

“And you will die,” Morrigan finished.

Revan smiled sadly.  “The price of my redemption.  I started the Blight, so I will finish it.”

“Is there no other way?” she asked.

“Not that I know of,” Revan sighed.

“And what of your beloved?”

“I made him a promise,” Revan echoed, “that I would return after I had defeated the evil that threatens everyone.  I promised him that I would right my wrongs.  I will keep that vow, even if it means only returning to him in dreams.”

Morrigan looked away, her head hanging low.  Whether it was in thought or in grief, Revan could not discern.  They walked in solemn silence through the abandoned thaig.  The buildings here, while grand, were in as much disrepair as those in the slums of Dust Town.  Roofs were smashed, facades had faded away, doors hung ajar, steps were crushed, walls crumbled.  The denizens had once been proud people, but their pride had yielded nothing but collapsing ruins.  Roving bands of deepstalkers stalked them through their examination of the thaig, but Morrigan’s magic and Revan’s quick blades slaughtered those who got too close and scared away those with more sense.

Revan gestured for them to stop when she found an odd charred bone belonging to a darkspawn, with visible gnaw marks gouged on its spongy surface.  Morrigan looked on in confusion, but Revan recalled her tracking skills she had learned from the Dalish and began scouring the area.  The bone was too neatly picked clean, and the teeth marks were not from a deepstalker or other darkspawn; they were too regular, too flat.  Something else was down here.  Eventually, following piles of refuse and remains, they found a dwarf leaning over the decaying corpse of a dwarven mercenary amongst the buildings, sorting through his belongings and deciding which to leave and which to take.  The dwarf wore mismatched, ill-fitting armor and had stringy, ill-kept hair.  His veins ran dark with corruption.

The dwarf jumped at their approach and hissed.  “There’s nothing for you here!  It’s mine!  I’ve claimed it!”

“Who are you?  What are you doing down here?” Revan approached cautiously.

“You’ve come to take my claim!” the dwarf accused her.  “You lot are all alike: thieving scoundrels!  Well, I found it first!”

“He is nothing more than a scavenger,” Morrigan dismissed him.  “Let us leave him.”

“Begone, you!” the dwarf shrilled.  “You’ll bring the dark ones back, you will!  They’ll crunch your bones!”

“How did he survive down here by himself?” Morrigan wondered.

“Darkspawn,” Revan answered simply.  The witch shuddered in revulsion.

“It burns when it goes down.  It burns!” the dwarf survivor remarked.  “It’s my claim, not yours!  Crunch your bones!”

With that, he ran off.  Revan, feeling pity for the poor man who had obviously had his wits addled from spending too long in the silence and darkness, made to go after him.  Morrigan merely sighed and followed Revan and her altruism, but they were stopped by the arrival of several giant spiders, who fell from the entrance of the tunnels the dwarf had fled down.  Morrigan transformed into a great bear and roared her indignation, while Revan ignited her blades.  Morrigan swiped at the spiders, their webs having little effect on the massive creature.  Revan, more prone to being caught in the sticky mass they ejected, spun pirouettes around them, slashing at their legs to cripple them before piercing their giant abdomens and spilling their guts.  After dispatching the nest, they set off again after the lone dwarf.  The dwarf led them through a warren of tunnels, eventually ending in a small cave.  In the middle of the cave was a small cooking fire, casting its thin, warm light into the corners of the stone.  The floor was littered with items: ancient dwarven relics, crude and twisted darkspawn creations, scavenged gear from dwarven expeditions, and the odd natural item that the dwarf had picked up or pried away.  It was a cave of wonders.  Morrigan looked on in disgust.  The dwarf, dirty and hunched, hissed from the other side of the fire.

“Go away!” he demanded.  “This is mine!  Only I gets to plunder its riches!”

“This would not happen to be Branka’s campsite, would it?” Revan said, keeping her hand away from her blades and in full view.

“It’s mine!” he insisted.  “I’m the one who found it.  I drove out the crawlers.  Now it’s mine, not yours, and not the other’s!”

Revan noted the addition.  “I am not here to steal anything, I promise.”

The dwarf finally looked at her.  Really looked.  “Pretty lady…” he sighed, “pretty eye, pretty hair…smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock…”  Revan kept her face decidedly neutral.  He was obviously delusional.  “So…the pretty lady won’t take anything from Ruck?  You won’t take Ruck’s shiny worms and pretty rocks?”

Ruck.  The name was familiar to Revan; she had met his mother, Filda, while roaming Orzammar as the others went to Aeducan Thaig.  “I just want to talk,” Revan assured him, slowly lowering herself into a sitting position.  She gestured for Morrigan to do the same.  “I will not take anything.”

“Oh,” Ruck considered.  “Ruck not mind that, maybe…”

“So your name is Ruck?” Revan gently prodded.

“Ruck not a pretty name,” the dwarf said shyly, picking up a loose stone and twirling it in his fingers, “not pretty like lady.  Ruck is small and ugly and twisted.”

“I think I met your mother,” the Jedi announced, much to the apparent surprise of Morrigan.  “Is her name Filda?”

Ruck looked up abruptly, his glazed eyes wide in terror.  “N-n-n-no,” he stammered, shaking.  “No Filda.  No mother.  No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words!  Ruck doesn’t deserve good memories.  No no no no no…”

“Your mother misses you.  She asked me to find you.”

“Sh-she did not know, not what I did,” Ruck stared into the fire, shaking visibly.  “I was very, very, very, very angry and then someone was dead.  They wanted to send Ruck to the mines.  If I went to the mines, sh-she would know.  Everyone would know.  So I came here, instead.  Once you eat…once you takes in the darkness…you not miss the light so much.  You know, do you not?  Ruck sees, yes.  He sees the darkness inside you.”

“That…is a frightening thought,” Revan shuddered.  Morrigan nodded her agreement behind her.

“I means nothing by it…” the dwarf tried placating her.

“How did you survive?” Morrigan asked, disbelieving Revan’s answer.

“When the dark ones were here, I kept to the shadows,” the dwarf answered.  “They don’t look in the shadows, not if you’re quiet.  Not if you eat their flesh.  Then the dark ones think you’re one of them.  They leave you alone.  But now they’re gone.”

That troubled Revan.  “Do you know where these ‘dark ones’ went?”

“I thinks they went south, pretty lady.  Far, far to the south,” Ruck almost sounded grateful.  “That is where the dark master calls them with his beautiful voice.  So much joy when he awoke!”

“The Archdemon,” Morrigan whispered.

“And after the dark master awoke,” Ruck continued, “he called his children and they all went.  I wanted to go, too, and gaze upon his beauty…”

“Where is this dark master now?” Revan pried him from his reverie.  “Do you know?”

“He stopped calling,” Ruck responded sullenly.  “I wish I could go see him but Ruck – no, no, Ruck – Ruck is a coward.”

“Sometimes it is best to be a coward,” Revan soothed him.  “He is not worth gazing upon.  Tell me, Ruck, how long have you been down here?”

“Too long,” Ruck shook his head.  “I just think…five years?  Six?  Ruck no longer remembers the smells and sights of the city.”

“That is such a long time!” the Jedi empathized.  “You poor dear!”

Ruck smiled.  “The pretty lady understands.  She knows how Ruck feels, she does.”

Revan smiled, though her stomach churned.  She did indeed know how the soiled dwarf felt.  All too well.  “Ruck, you mentioned another down here with you.  Who else is here?”

Ruck frowned.  “Stupid, thieving other…he takes Ruck’s things, he does!  Ruck tells him to leave, but the other refuses.  He pretends to feel bad for poor, ugly Ruck, but he is just as ugly and twisted.  He lives across the river, he does.  He will not leave Ruck alone!”

“I will deal with this other,” she assured him.  “Thank you for your time, Ruck.”

“Goodbye, pretty lady,” the dwarf smiled toothily at her, sending a shiver up her spine.  She figured out what he was referencing in regards to her prettiness, however: he could see the Archdemon within her.  The sooner she could leave, the better.  She needed no more reminders of her mistakes.

The campsite that Ruck had inhabited had been occupied by a larger force at some point, and many of his treasures had obviously been scavenged from a large expedition.  Upon leaving the cave, Morrigan showed Revan some of the documents she had found littered amongst the junk while Ruck had been distracted by the Jedi.  They were notes, written in a small, concise hand that bordered on chicken scratch.  Revan hypothesized that they belonged to Branka, or someone in her retinue.  Morrigan stowed the papers as evidence that they were on the right track, and Revan led her across the river, in the direction that Ruck had indicated.  Perhaps this “other” would yield some more information in regards to Branka.  Perhaps this “other” was Branka.  One could hope.

Across the river, they were greeted with an odd sight: one of the old dwarven houses had light streaming through its windows.  The glow of the fire was obvious from the bridge.  As they approached, Revan noticed that the house in question had recent repairs, including a haphazard repair to the roof and some crude patches to the walls.  Simple traps were arrayed at the egresses.  Revan led the way, careful to avoid the traps, and knocked courteously on the door.  There was a rustling inside, the hiss of iron being drawn, the clanking of armor moving.  Footsteps neared the door.  Revan took a step back, prepared for a paranoid dwarf to jump out.  It was obvious by the precautions that this was no darkspawn, and was most likely a warrior or scout who had been separated from their expedition.  Revan was mildly surprised that the survivor had not lost their mind as Ruck had.  But she was prepared just in case she was wrong.

She was, fortunately, not.  The survivor cracked the door open just enough to glimpse out but enough that he could quickly shut it and defend himself if necessary.  And it was indeed a he.  The brief glimpse Revan had through the narrow door revealed a tangled black beard and hard, dark eyes.  The door closed, and Revan heard the unlatching of what she assumed to be trip wires or old locking mechanisms.  Then, the door opened fully, revealing a young male dwarf with thick, shiny black hair and matching beard, wearing soiled clothes under a hodgepodge of scavenged armor, but wielding a fine dwarven longsword.  He stared with hard eyes at Revan and Morrigan, flitting suspiciously between the two of them before the confusion overtook his caution.  He was handsome for a dwarf, but he was dangerously thin.

“Ancestors, I never thought I’d see surfacers down here,” he shook his head.  “But I must ask, strangers, who are you and what brings you to these ruins?”

“I am Dragonheart, a Grey Warden,” Revan introduced herself.  “And this is one of my companions, Morrigan.”

The dwarf’s eyes began to water.  “A Grey Warden…Ancestors be praised!  I never thought I would see another soul here besides crazy old Ruck.  I know you didn’t come for me, so what brought you down here?  The Calling?”

Revan suppressed a shudder at the mention of the Calling.  She remembered the echoes from Duncan’s memories.  “No.  We seek the Paragon Branka and the Anvil of the Void.  And who are you?”

“Paragon Branka is dead, Warden,” the dwarf shook his head again.  “She’s been gone for two years now.  And the Anvil of the Void has certainly been lost.  I am called Duran…just Duran, I suppose now.”

“Duran Aeducan?” Revan asked in surprise.  Morrigan looked at her in bewilderment.

“Ah, you’ve heard of me,” Duran sheathed his sword finally.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  It’s only been, what, a few months now?”

“And who is this now?” Morrigan questioned the Jedi.  “Another lost soul you pledged to find?”

“This is Prince Bhelen’s brother,” Revan explained to the witch.  “He was accused of murdering his brother, Trian, and was exiled into the Deep Roads and stripped from the Memories, the harshest punishment a dwarf can receive.”

Duran glared at Revan.  “Aye, that’s the truth of it, though I was wrongfully accused.  I didn’t murder Trian.  I was framed by Bhelen.”

“So he played you?” Morrigan asked.  “How crafty of him.”

“Duran, I am afraid I have some bad news for you,” Revan sighed.  “Shortly after your exile, your father died.  I am so sorry.”

The exiled prince stared at her in shock.  “Oh.”  He sat on the floor of the entryway.  “Well that was…not what I expected to hear.”

“I am sorry,” she repeated, taking a seat next to him, carefully avoiding the many traps.

“Bhelen, I take it,” the dwarf spit.

“So the rumors say,” Revan said.

Duran stared at his knees.  “It’s surprising how many rumors end up to be true.  Bhelen was always the shrewdest of us, though he pretended he didn’t want the crown.  Ha!  A bunch of bronto shit, if you ask me.  I never wanted the crown.  Verily.  I swore up and down the streets of the Diamond Quarter that I didn’t want the crown.  I would have gladly abdicated for Bhelen if he’d have asked.  But instead, he framed me, ruined me, and sent me here to die.  I guess he thought I was like him and was lying through my teeth.  You mentioned he was still a prince?  Did someone steal his inheritance then?”

“Lord Harrowmont is contesting his claims, claiming that your father named him heir on his deathbed.  The Assembly is in deadlock,” Revan relayed.

“Of course they are, the useless cowards,” Duran spit again.  “And to break the deadlock, they need a Paragon, hence Branka.  How did you get wrapped up in this, Warden Dragonheart?”

“There is a Blight,” Revan told him, “and the dwarves of Orzammar signed an ancient treaty dedicating their support to the Grey Wardens in a Blight.  We came to collect on this treaty, but the Assembly can do nothing without a king.”

Duran growled.  “You are not the bearer of good news, Warden.  How many are with you?”

“Two other Wardens, a Qunari warrior, a golem, a ‘former’ Antivan Crow, a Circle mage, an Orlesian bard, and Morrigan,” Revan recounted.  “Oh!  And Oghren is accompanying us to find Paragon Branka.”

“You got that layabout sober enough to go with you?” the dwarf asked skeptically from beneath bushy black eyebrows.  “Color me impressed.  And a golem!  Are the other Wardens awaiting your return on the surface?”

Revan grimaced.  “There are no other Wardens.  They were slaughtered in a battle with the Archdemon’s horde when a Ferelden commander pulled his forces back.”

Duran’s face fell.  “My apologies, Dragonheart.  That is tragic news.”

“Indeed,” she sighed.  There was a pause.  “You may be exiled, Duran, but the dwarves of Orzammar still speak of your battle prowess.  We would be honored if you joined us in our journey.”

“You believe in my innocence?” Duran raised an eyebrow.

“I honestly do not care if you are innocent or guilty,” she admitted.  “I am guilty of many crimes.  I started the Blight, and I intend to finish it.  We offer a chance at redemption, if you would like it.”

He stared at her in horror.  “How does one start a Blight?”

“Through many bad decisions,” she confessed.

He thought about her offer.  His stomach growled.  “I will go with you,” he finally said, “but only until you find Paragon Branka, or what is left of her.  My place is down here; I will not go to the surface with you.  I will finish my sentence down here, fighting darkspawn until I die.”

“As you wish,” Revan stood and offered him a hand up.  He accepted.  “The offer to join us will remain.”

The party of three traversed the decaying roads and passed between perilous alleys back towards the meeting point.  Their three hours were almost up.  Revan detailed their adventures so far, mentioning that the Wardens had decided to throw their lot in with Bhelen, feeling that he was the stronger of the two candidates.  Duran reluctantly agreed with their choice, saying that Harrowmont was a good general, but a terrible politician.  “Warriors should never be kings,” he cited.  Revan had the feeling that he was referencing himself, as it became apparent that Duran had always been much more inclined to fighting than to schmoozing.  He detested the deshyrs and despised the Assembly.  Apparently, he had often snuck out of meetings to go fight in the Provings instead of attending to his princely duties.  He had been planning on becoming the leader of Orzammar’s warriors upon Trian taking the throne, but such things were never to be.  Due to his direct and charming manner, many deshyrs had taken a liking to him.  There had been rumors circling around the Assembly that a group of delegates had been planning on bypassing his unpopular older brother Trian upon King Endirin’s death and putting Duran on the throne instead.  This had, for obvious reasons, alarmed all three brothers.  Trian had become outright hostile toward Duran, while Bhelen had begun plotting against them both, and meanwhile Duran was desperately trying to prove to both of them that he was better suited to swinging a maul than a scepter.  After his framing and sentencing, Harrowmont had given him a sword and wished him luck, believing that the prince was innocent, but Duran spit on him and declared that if Harrowmont had had a spine, he would have run Duran through on the spot, knowing that a quick death was better than what awaited him in the Deep Roads.  Duran had been surviving off of deepstalkers and spiders for the past several months, refusing to eat the tainted darkspawn flesh even despite its abundance.  He knew the consequences.  He had wandered through the Deep Roads until spotting Ruck, the first sentient being he had seen, and followed him back to Ortan Thaig.  There was fresh water here, there were several bands of deepstalkers and deep mushrooms grew aplenty, and he could take shelter in the ruins and hope for the best.  Meeting Revan and Morrigan was the first time he had been able to think about anything more than just surviving until the next day.

They were the last ones back at the meeting place.  Oghren was giddy about something Rose was showing him, and the others were gathering around a fire that Alistair had built.  The golem was the first to spot the three, though it narrowed its eyes suspiciously at the sight of yet another traveling companion.  Everyone stood to gawk at Revan and Morrigan’s find, and Oghren guffawed immediately at the sight of the bedraggled prince and flourished a mock bow.  Duran ignored him and introduced himself grandly to Rose, understanding her importance from Revan’s brief synopsis.  He greeted her as if they were in court, and he still a prince and she still a noble lady.  Rose did not blush, but was taken aback just for a second before she remembered her courtly training.  She curtsied as best she could, proffering her humbleness and inviting him to share their provisions and their fire.  Duran graciously accepted, even as Zevran and Alistair snickered behind the noble girl’s back.  They were silenced by a pointed glare from her that made Revan proud.  At the fire, Sten wordlessly handed the emaciated dwarf a bowl of stew made with the dried meat they had brought with them from Orzammar and with the roots and tubers and mushrooms they had scrounged or picked or brought.  Duran devoured it, not speaking a word until his bowl was clean, and then, only when Sten had refilled it, did the dwarf begin telling the others the tale of his exile.  The others hung on to his every word, with the exception of Revan, Morrigan, and Oghren.  The three moved off to the side, and Oghren excitedly showed the Jedi Rose’s find: a journal, written in a neat, compact, familiar hand that bordered on chicken scratch.  The cover was battered, but intact, and not nearly as old as everything else in the thaig.  Revan took the proffered journal and skimmed its pages, noting the descriptions of the Deep Roads and the evidence that its author had found to indicate their path.  The last entry, however, was the most illuminating:

_We found evidence today that the Anvil of the Void was not built in the Ortan Thaig.  We will go south, to the Dead Trenches.  The Anvil is somewhere beyond.  My soldiers tell me that I am mad, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with darkspawn, that we will surely die before we find the Anvil…if we find it.  I leave this here in case they’re right.  If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil.  For if it remains lost, so do we all.  If I have not returned and Oghren yet lives, tell him…no, what I have to say should be for his ears alone._

_This is my farewell._

Revan marveled at the find of Branka’s journal before her face suddenly soured.  “Did you not tell Rose that Bownammar was north and west of here?”

Oghren laughed sheepishly.  “I might be getting a bit turned around.”

“So much for the famed dwarven Stone sense…” Revan said sarcastically, earning a dirty glare from her dwarven companion.

* * *

 

The trek to the Dead Trenches was perilous.  As soon as they started on the southern routes, they began encountering far more darkspawn than previously.  Luckily, their Warden senses were alert, and no wandering patrol or straggling runt managed to surprise them.  However, their journey was starting to take its toll.  Rose and Alistair both had deep bags under their eyes, and the sleep deprivation was making them irritable.  Alistair and Morrigan began bickering more and more the farther they journeyed.  Rose lost the motivation to keep the peace, and the angry hissing and hurled insults became almost constant.  Duran, gaining strength now that he had food, took point and tried to keep the party together.  The prince was a natural leader, much like Rose, but he was obviously more used to dwarves and their sense of honor, as compared to their band of misfits.  He managed to keep them on the correct path, leaving the real leadership to Rose and, when she could not keep it together, Revan.  Revan was not much better off than her compatriots; the proximity to Urthemiel was beginning to set her on edge, more so than usual, and her meditations were now plagued with scattered thoughts directly from the alien conscious.  Zevran was constantly by her side now, trying to keep her spirits up while surreptitiously giving her glances of concern when he thought she was not paying attention.  He made sure she ate and refused to let her do much in the way of maintaining her armor or weapons, insisting that she meditate instead while he took care of her chores.  Revan consistently tried to refuse, but always gave in as soon as Sten shot her a pointed look.  The Qunari knew what ailed her.

The stench of the corruption got progressively stronger.  The brontos became skittish.  Revan’s head began to pound the day before they arrived at the Dead Trenches.  She could feel Urthemiel trying to claw his way into her skull.  She kept him at bay, most of her energy sapped by her continued effort to shield her and the other Wardens’ minds.  They could not let Urthemiel know the truth about their situation.  Right now, they had an advantage over him: Urthemiel knew that three Grey Wardens had survived, and he knew one was Revan.  Though Urthemiel was arrogant, he was afraid of Revan because she possessed a part of him, and he knew she had considerable powers.  He did not know, however, that she refused to use those powers, and he did not know that political turmoil had limited the size of their army.

It was almost a surprise when they finally reached Bownammar, now known as the Dead Trenches.  They had been slowly picking their way through a small tunnel, an offshoot of a road, though the dwarves had not paved this small, narrow access tunnel.  Revan suspected it was made recently, perhaps by the Legion of the Dead.  They had marched single file, Duran at the front, Rose right behind him, and Alistair right behind her.  Revan remained near the back, mindful of their rear.  More than once, darkspawn had converged upon them from behind, and Revan had had to vault over the brontos to dispatch the group that had followed them.  That day, however, Duran stopped abruptly at the mouth of the tunnel.  Before him, fires raged.  Revan could smell the smoke, the burning of pitch and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh that made her want to retch.  Morrigan looked how she felt.  Rose steeled her face, pushed past Duran in the cramped space, and boldly led them in to the Dead Trenches.  A great bridge spanned across a chasm, leading to the famed gates of the fortress of Bownammar.  The fires raged from the chasm, a deep trench filled with the army of Urthemiel.  The guttural roars and clanking of iron echoed from below.  The darkspawn were numerous.  Rose approached the edge of the chasm, facing her fear and wanting to see their enemy for herself.  Revan followed.  And as she peered over the edge, glimpsing the torches of the army that vastly outnumbered them, a great shape shot past them into the air.  The bony plates that armored the monstrous Urthemiel shone like a beetle’s carapace in the flickering, orange light.  The Archdemon, a monstrous dragon even larger than the High Dragon, roared as he soared past them on membranous wings that pulsed with dark blood.  He landed on the bridge, observed its army, and spewed unnatural fire from his toothy maw as he spoke to his soulless servants.  Then, tensing his muscles, he threw his lumbering form into the smoky air and soared through the caverns.  Revan felt her breath catch and her heart practically stop.  He had felt her, but he had not spotted her.  He was roaring not in admiration of his forces, but in indignation that she was so close and yet invisible to him amongst the mass of his darkspawn soldiers.  She grinned wickedly at his outrage.

Rose looked up from the trenches and exchanged a frightened glance with Revan.  However, the girl saw Revan’s wicked grin, illuminated menacingly in the fires of the army, and suddenly she regained her composure.  Seeing the Jedi so confident, even though she did not know why, reassured the noble of their abilities.  Rose braced herself, and with purpose strode toward the bridge where they had seen the Archdemon land.  The others were visibly shaken, but upon seeing their two leaders confidently leading the way, they followed.  The brontos stayed behind, Morrigan tying them up.  This was too dangerous for the beasts.  Upon nearing the bridge, Rose and Revan saw a large force of darkspawn assaulting a smaller but formidable force composed of dwarves.  Revan knew immediately that the dwarves were the famous, or for her infamous, Legion of the Dead.  Her old revulsion encouraged her to slaughter the dwarves, but her new sensibilities urged her to rush to their aid.  With a quick exchange of nods with Rose, the two rushed forward.  The others were directly behind them.  Revan ignited her lightsabers as she ran, while Rose drew her sword and covered her front with her shield.  The two women fell upon the darkspawn with a fury.  Rose knocked the first to the ground and lunged past to skewer another.  Meanwhile, Revan cleaved two through the middle and immediately slid under the chop of another wielded by a burly hurlock.  She and Rose slew five before the others joined the fray.  As Revan pirouetted and dodged, she saw the Legion pause in shock, able at last to take a breather from the fighting.  They fell back, finishing off any the party left alive by accident, but they were content to let the odd conglomeration slaughter the darkspawn.  It was not difficult work, as there were no ogres to contend with.  Revan was a hurricane of light, dancing like a ballerina as she lunged and slashed.  Zevran ended up beside her, stabbing those she distracted in the back and cutting the throats of those that got too close.  Alistair circled near Rose, his back to hers, forming a duo of bashing shields that slowly spun through the throng.  Morrigan had transformed into an angry bronto and proceeded to accompany Shale in running over and trampling their enemies.  Sten and Oghren and Duran, meanwhile, were standing their ground, preferring to let the darkspawn come to them.  The three formed an impenetrable wall of flesh and steel.  Finally, Rose chopped the head off of the last standing darkspawn, a genlock archer, and they had a moment’s respite.  The leader of the Legionnaires, a bald dwarf with pronounced tattoos and intricately plaited beard, approached them cautiously.  He addressed Rose, who strode toward him confidently.

“Atrast vala, Grey Warden,” the dwarf greeted her in the old speech.  “I’ve never seen one of your kind in the Deep Roads.”

“And yet you don’t sound surprised,” Rose commented as she caught her breath.  Revan noted she had not sheathed her blade.

“In the Legion of the Dead, we abandon our lives to be free of fear, free of hopeful blindness.  The coming Blight is obvious to us,” the Legionnaire spoke.  “The surprise is not that you have come, but that you have come in so small a number.  What do you want here, Warden?”

“I am Rose, and I am looking for allies,” the young woman finally sheathed her sword.

“It’s an odd tactic, recruiting from the frontline,” the dwarf smiled without mirth.  “The darkspawn pitch their camps in our tunnels between your ‘Blights’, you know.  Give me a dwarven reason to look topside.”

“Right now, it’s not topside that concerns me,” Rose corrected him.  “I need to find Paragon Branka.”

The bald dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow.  “Who put this dull idea in your head?  We’ve got other things to worry about in Orzammar…”  The dwarf caught a glimpse of proud Duran, still in mismatched armor and still emaciated, but who still carried his head high.  “Ah, now I see.  The deep lords in the Assembly can’t make up their minds, so the pretenders need added influence.  I get that right?”

“Indeed,” Duran spoke up.  “You always were too sharp to end up in the Legion, Kardol.”

“You have anything useful to add?” Rose crossed her arms expectantly.  Dwarven politics were beginning to annoy her.

“Warden, you’ve got your work cut out for you.  Paragon Branka is dead, everyone with sense knows it.  Past our line, the darkspawn kill everything,” Kardol spit.

Rose met him in the eye.  “Then move your line.”

Kardol barked a grim laugh.  “I’d gladly lead an assault through the Dead Trenches, but without an ass in the throne, we have no orders.  I won’t take fool’s gold from a pretender.  You want to go digging blind, you go right ahead.”

Rose and him exchanged glances, and finally each nodded to the other in respect.  The Legionnaire recognized a true warrior when he saw one.  He studiously ignored Revan, however.  Rose asked him some questions, but it was apparent that Kardol knew little about Branka and even less about the Anvil.  Revan was not surprised; ever since Bownammar had fallen seventeen years prior, the Legion of the Dead had been throwing dwarves at its impenetrable walls in a vain attempt to regain it.  As such, there was always new blood in the Legion.  Kardol looked seasoned, but he may have been seasoned from years in the Warrior Caste, not years in the Legion.  Those in the Legion had shorter lifespans than those in the Warden ranks.  The Jedi suspected he was newer blood.  Kardol wished them luck and began setting up the line at the foot of the bridge.  Rose turned to address her own people.

“We are about to plunge headfirst into the darkspawn horde,” Rose announced without preamble.  The others straightened automatically.  Her voice was firm.  “We have a task; without Orzammar’s help, we stand no chance against the Archdemon.  You all saw him; when he makes his move on the surface, we will need every ally.  I don’t ask you all to do this lightly.  I don’t know what we will find on the other side of that bridge.  But I know that we have to cross it.  This is your last chance to turn back.  Many of you are here of your own free will, and I won’t begrudge you if you leave.”  No one moved a muscle.  In fact, everyone set their jaws firmly, resolute in their decision to stand with the Wardens.  Even Duran, who had been wary of them all at first, stared at her determinedly.  She commanded absolute loyalty.  “Very well.  Remember to keep your mouths shut and your weapons up.  Keep your eyes and ears open.  We press forward.  Let’s show these Legionnaires how to draw a line.”

The men thumped their sword hands against their chests almost in unison, grinning madly at her challenge.  Shale cracked an ugly impersonation of a smile.  Only Morrigan, now back in human form, did not smile at the remark, and instead looked behind the Warden to the bridge crawling with darkspawn that stood ahead of them.  As the others readied their weapons, the witch changed into a large eagle with impressively long talons.  Revan nodded in acknowledgement to the shapeshifter, and ignited her own blades.  The bridge was ancient and pockmarked with damage from eons of battles, and Revan was wary of its structural integrity.  But they had little choice.  Rose raised her sword to the cavernous ceiling, dedicating the battle to the Grey Wardens, and rushed forward.  The others echoed her and began carving a slow path down the length of the bridge.  Revan was near the front, partnered with Zevran.  As she flew between targets, he danced around the edges.  Sten and the dwarves carved a path down the middle with their heavy swings, as Rose and Alistair bashed their way ahead.  It seemed that they were making good progress, until the shrieks appeared.  They swarmed the golem, throwing it to its knees as they clambered onto its back.  Shale tried to throw them off, but to no avail.  Revan was too far away to cut her way to the golem, but luckily Morrigan saw and swooped down, diving and tearing through several shrieks.  The deformed creatures hissed in pain as the eagle grabbed them in her razor talons and flung them over the side of the bridge.  Zevran, small enough to dodge between enemies, weaved his way to Shale’s side and proceeded to stab the darkspawn still clinging to the golem.  Finally, Shale was able to stand and break free of their dogpile, shaking the rest off violently, either to be thrown over the precipice or to be trampled underneath the golem’s massive weight.

Rose and Alistair cut ahead, but were stopped in their tracks by an emissary, a darkspawn who drew on the magic of the Blight.  Alistair was able to use his Templar training to ward off its magical attacks, but he did not have the training to negate its magic completely.  Revan saw and pressed forward, dodging the black-fletched arrows of the archers and the cruel iron blades of the infantry who thought that they could hack her to pieces.  She felt her limbs growing heavier with each passing minute, her muscles fatigued from days of walking and days with little sleep, but the adrenaline kept her moving.  Finally, she found herself by the other Wardens’ side.  With only a nod to Alistair and Rose, Revan circled to the left as Rose sidestepped to the right.  The emissary, now confused which of the three targets it needed to attack, tried casting a spell over the entire area.  Alistair braced, but Revan lashed out with her own magic, a bolt of lightning shooting from her outstretched hand.  The emissary absorbed the energy at the last moment in its corrupted staff, but it had been interrupted.  Rose leapt from behind, and with a lunge pierced the darkspawn in the back.  The air crackled with energy, but the magic the emissary had cast dissipated.

Revan looked up, hoping that they were close to dispatching the last of the darkspawn, but was disappointed to see a line of darkspawn archers eagerly awaiting their advance with flaming arrows as they flanked a very large and very angry ogre.  Its twisted black horns gleamed maliciously.  As Oghren swung his battleax through one of the last remaining foot soldiers, the ogre roared, commanding the party’s attention.  It lowered its horns, preparing to charge the three Wardens.  The archers drew their bowstrings.  The three dove in different directions, Alistair just tucking past the ogre’s heavy feet.  The monstrosity was taller than even Shale, and as it flew past Revan she saw the saliva dripping from its black fangs.  The whistle of arrows distracted her, however.  Almost instinctually, Revan repelled the hail of arrows above the bridge with the Force.  Her left leg gave out as she started to feel woozy, and she was forced to take a knee.  However, her display had had the desired effect, and the arrows fell harmlessly to the ground.  Rose had regained her footing, and was actively banging her sword on her shield as she sidestepped a semicircle around the ogre, confusing it and letting Sten, Oghren, and Duran get into position to surround it.  Shale took point in front of it, and as it came to a halt and roared at the din Rose was creating, the golem grappled its massive horns and kept its head low with Shale’s considerable weight.  As the ogre’s head twisted and turned, trying to shake the golem off, Sten and Oghren moved behind it and almost simultaneously slashed with their great weapons through the massive beast’s leg tendons.  Hamstrung, it fell to its knees.  Alistair, now back on his feet, came in from the side and plunged his blade through the ogre’s eye as Duran vaulted onto its back and stabbed it through the base of its skull.  The huge monstrosity shuddered, then fell, Shale stepping back just in time so the ogre’s heavy corpse did not crush the golem.  The archers, meanwhile, knocked their arrows and sent another volley overhead.  Revan deflected them yet again, stopping the arrows in midflight.  Zevran and Morrigan moved away from the ogre and began harrying the archers, Zevran using his considerable skill at sneaking to take the archers from behind while Morrigan clawed out their eyes from above, flying off before being grabbed or before one could take out a dagger to stab at her.  She even managed to break a few bows and tear out a few throats.  The volleys became fewer and farther between, and soon it was just a few arrows that Revan easily batted away with her lightsabers.  She managed to regain her feet, and the Jedi shakily made her way to the archers, dispatching the blind and the bowless with some effort.

At last, the bridge was cleared.  The imposing gates of Bownammar, City of the Dead, loomed before them.  Rose joined them as Morrigan shifted back into human form and Revan thrust a blade through the gaping maw of the last indignant darkspawn.

“Well, that went better than I’d hoped,” Rose whispered conspiratorially to the Jedi.

Revan smiled and clapped her companion on the shoulder.  “Do not celebrate just yet; this is but one section of Bownammar.  Just wait until we are inside the gates.”

Rose, to her credit, did not blanch, but grinned resolutely.  She commanded that the party rest and check themselves for any injuries or rents in their armor or nicks in their weapons.  She would not allow them to press forward unless they were fit to do so.  Revan took the opportunity to eat something; she was shaking violently from the exertion.  The lack of sleep, combined with the effort of using both magic and drawing on the Force in a place as dead as this, was exhausting.  Zevran and Morrigan saw it too, and wordlessly saw to her armor and brought her victuals.  Morrigan even redid her braid, which had started to escape from its bindings.

Eventually, Kardol and his dwarves found their way across the bridge, carefully picking their way between the strewn bodies of the darkspawn.  Kardol even looked impressed.

“Well, Grey Warden, I’ll give you credit for backbone.  You’ve dug a line through the spawn,” he nodded in approval, surveying the carnage.  “Still no sense in your head, but you’ve got skill.”

Rose smiled, drew her sword, and scratched a line in the stone.  “You have no orders, Kardol?  Here are your new orders, from me: hold this line instead.  We’ll keep making them, you just try to guard our backs.”

Kardol clucked his tongue.  “You’re sodding crazy, but all right, Warden.  We’ll hold the lines you make.  Try not to die out there.”


	19. Act XIX

Act XIX: Bownammar

Oghren had been right.  Bownammar, City of the Dead, home of the Legion of the Dead, felt more a mausoleum than a city.  The halls were grand, the gates and buttresses intimidating, but the construction was cold and harsh, the stone chiseled in angles and edges that felt like the Sith temple on Malachor V. The entire place felt like the graveyard planet.  The spirits of the dead still lingered here, even despite the dwarves’ tenuous connection with the Force and the Fade.  The Fade was thin here, and the Force called to Revan’s primal senses, whispering temptations of power, echoing the screams of unrestrained, immeasurable rage and hate.  Exhaustion made it difficult for Revan to fight the lure, and she could feel her eye changing.  She saw it reflected in the eyes of Sten and Zevran, who kept glancing at her in worry.  Even Morrigan and Shale, normally stoic, seemed to notice the effect the tomb was having on the Jedi.

After Rose had drawn a new line for the Legionnaires, they had stopped to rest and check their equipment and supplies.  They had unloaded what they could carry from the brontos, realizing that this was as far as the beasts could safely travel.  The Legion promised to look after them in the meantime, and the dwarves had joined them in breaking bread and recovering strength.  There was no sleep, not with the darkspawn horde rumbling beneath them, but everyone felt better after sitting and eating.  No one was terribly hurt; at most, there were a few cuts and scratches and bruises.  Revan did what she could to help, applying poultices with Morrigan’s help and wrapping larger gashes with their dwindling supply of bandages.  Dimly, Revan hoped that Wynne was restocking while in Redcliffe.

Rose decided when they were ready to depart and press forward.  No one questioned her leadership.  She shook hands with Kardol, who seemed mightily impressed with the first Wardens he had met, and assured him that they would succeed.  Then, they made their way into the bowels of Bownammar.  The front gates had been closed for the past seventeen years, the darkspawn having been unsuccessful in unlocking the secrets of dwarven engineering and unable to unlock the massive defenses.  Instead, the darkspawn had tunneled their way around it.  After a few minutes of searching, they had found the crevice that led around the fortifications.  Unfortunately, the tunnels were crawling with darkspawn.  Rose and Duran, having taken point, cut their way through, while the rest of them tried to provide cover and ranged support.  Revan managed to summon some energy to reach out with the Force and fling back some of the attackers to prevent the two in front from being overwhelmed.  Morrigan cast bolts of magical energy that singed and scorched some, while Zevran drew his backup shortbow and tried to provide covering fire, though he was not nearly as proficient with a bow as Leliana, or as proficient as he was with his daggers.  The tunnel was only large enough for two warriors to press forward at a time.  They managed to slowly push forward, the two in front falling back and letting the other warriors in the party push forward before they fell back and allowed others to replace them.

Finally, they broke through, arriving inside the gates, into the fortress of Bownammar.  It was just as grand inside as outside, but the darkspawn had destroyed much since it had fallen.  Many of the bridges spanning the impossibly deep chasms had collapsed partly or entirely.  However, there were darkspawn waiting for them, having heard the commotion in the access tunnel.  Rose wiped her brow, pushing the strands of her fiery hair away from her face.  The entire party was covered in grime and sweat, but all wore determined expressions on their faces.  Rose directed the party’s tactics, having taken note of Revan’s lectures to Alistair and her discussions with Sten.  The battlemaiden ordered Morrigan to get to cover and use her ranged magical attacks, while Shale would push through the middle of the clustered darkspawn.  The rest would follow behind, like a spear.  Revan and Zevran, being the quickest, would follow directly behind and then peel off to dispatch the archers and the emissary that was taking cover near the gate.  She communicated her wishes succinctly over the roar of the darkspawn arraying themselves to meet them.  Morrigan dashed away, taking cover near a collapsed dwarven defense mechanism and began unleashing magical energy toward the enemy.  The opposing emissary noticed, and started trying to counteract her magic.  To her credit, the apostate managed to deflect most of its countermeasures.  Meanwhile, Shale blew through the center of the arrayed fighters, with Revan and Zevran close on the golem’s heels.  As soon as the golem skidded to a halt, the Jedi and the assassin peeled off, Zevran heading for the archers and Revan for the distracted emissary.  She may have been tired, but she knew how to press through even the worst fatigue.  The emissary only saw her approach once it was too late.  It raised its staff defensively, as if to push her away.  Revan merely cut off the crystal-studded head of the staff and then cut off the deformed head of the darkspawn.  The air cackled with energy, but Revan ignored it and spun to assist the elf, who was rolling and vaulting between archers who were vainly trying to kick or stab him with their daggers, successfully distracted from firing at the embroiled warriors.  Revan took advantage of their confusion and when Zevran caught their attention, she exploited it, executing them with a sizzling of her blades.  The archers were soon dispatched, and when the duo were done, they saw that their companions were, too.  Rose looked around, assessing the battlefield strewn with darkspawn, noting if any of her people were injured, and then drew a distinct line across the stone tiles with the tip of her blade.  Another line for the Legion to hold.

There was little time for celebration, however.  Even though there were darkspawn everywhere, and all three Wardens were almost overwhelmed with the tingling sensation that indicated their presence, they were all too aware that Bownammar in particular was infested.  More would come shortly.  They needed to keep the momentum, or they would never press through past the fortress.  Rose made them move, despite protests from Alistair and Zevran.  The rest understood that their energy would only last so long.  Revan could already feel her adrenaline kick from the fight wearing off, and she was feeling more and more drained.  They moved past the broken bridges and caved-in passages, forced to take the tunnels the darkspawn had made to navigate the fortress.  Fortunately, they had a bit of a respite from darkspawn, the creatures having been sure their greeting party would have dispatched the intruders.  The tunnels combined with old dwarven rooms and hallways that formed the bowels of the city.  As they passed rooms of tombs and sarcophagi of dwarves long turned to dust, Revan shuddered, the lingering energy of the dead shrieking into the void, restless and furious.  Perhaps, if the darkspawn were removed, this place would be cleansed and the spirits would find peace.  Revan doubted it.  Such animosity was not easily quelled.

More darkspawn awaited them in some of the tombs, however.  Revan, blinded by the Stone, did not see or feel them until it was too late, and Oghren stepped on a pressure plate that activated a trap.  As a jet of fire shot towards him, Revan extended a hand instinctually and shoved him away with the Force, right into a darkspawn that had been alerted to their presence.  The darkspawn and dwarf went crashing into a wall, the darkspawn’s chest crushed by the dwarf’s weight and the unyielding pressure from his armor.  As Oghren picked himself up, groaning and muttering about mages, the darkspawn sunk to the ground, its chest sunken hideously.  Oghren stared down at it in disbelief as Duran and Sten ran past him, rushing the darkspawn that had come running from the tunnels to assist.  Revan bent over, a wave of nausea hitting her as she expended too much energy in her current state.  Zevran positioned himself in front of her protectively, but the warriors ran down the rest of the darkspawn quickly in the close quarters.  They may have been a band of misfits, but Revan had to give them all credit for being exceptional fighters.  Even Morrigan, energy sapped from her unfailing magical attacks, was doing more than most mages from the Circle could have done.  The Jedi recomposed herself, and the party pressed on, more wary of possible traps.  Rose made Zevran lead with her, as he was their expert in traps and poisons.

As they made their way over the rubble and passed the grotesque darkspawn constructions, Oghren fell back to Revan’s side.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Anytime,” she responded.

“But never throw me like that again,” the dwarf warned her.  “I’m not a missile.”

Revan laughed, a strange sound in the tomb.  “I do not know, that was rather effective, though I assure you completely unintentional.”

Oghren grumbled, but clapped her on the back in the only way the dwarf knew to show comradely affection.  Revan ruffled his hair, much to his chagrin.  The surly dwarf was slowly easing her ingrained distrust of dwarves.  The Architect, when she had found him, had built in her a deep-seated prejudice against the race, but Revan was quickly realizing that they were, in many ways, like the Mandalorians.  Their warriors were respectful of strength and prowess, a language Revan understood well.  They held honor above all else.  Her prejudice had been unfounded, a manipulation by the devious darkspawn to make her less likely to question him and his operation.  It did not help that Urthemiel had left a strong impression on her after approaching her in the Fade, and she had been inclined to help him.

They arrived at a grand hall that opened up into a giant cavern that looked to have been excavated fairly recently.  The cavern was smoky, filled with fires roaring from strange darkspawn constructions.  Revan caught wind of the distinct smell of coal; these were not cooking fires.  This was a forge.  She barely got the warning out before a genlock armed with a hammer and a glowing, heated rod of iron appeared and growled menacingly at them, surrounded by what appeared to be its assistants, all armed with weapons in various stages of forging.  Rose looked to Revan in askance; the Jedi was the only one with weapons that could withstand the superheated weapons.  Some, those that had not been tempered yet, would be easy to fracture or break, but even with the group’s superior weapons, a glowing rod of iron would damage them, a risk they could not afford.  As the darkspawn advanced, Oghren, with his knowledge of smithing, pointed to the vulnerable weapons.  The rest were left for Revan.  Morrigan and Zevran tried to thin the ranks with ranged attacks.  Shale, being rock, was less susceptible to the molten weapons, but Revan warned the golem to not let the iron touch the crystals embedded in its skin.  The two surged forward, the golem using its rocky side to barrel through any resistance, while Revan pirouetted and danced around the darkspawn, trying to use minimal effort to kill her enemies.  When she had to deflect blows from the heated iron, the metal hissed against her lightsabers, but the energy generated by her blades was far hotter than anything a smith could produce with charcoal or coal alone.  The blades cut cleanly through, the iron melting completely.  Her momentum finally took her to what she assumed was the forge master, the genlock with hammer and rod.  They circled each other, the genlock having a shred more intelligence than typical and knowing that it was facing a dangerous opponent.  Revan, impatient with the battle, feinted to the side.  The genlock only possessed some intelligence, and fell for the bait.  Revan swept under its guard and with a twist of her wrist, hacked off an arm.  As the genlock screamed, whipping around to face her, she used its own momentum to slice it clean in half at the waist.  The two parts of the genlock slid apart.  As Revan wiped the grime from her face, she saw Duran pull his sword from the last of the other darkspawn, a gush of black blood accompanying it.  He did not even bother wiping it off.  Rose nodded her acknowledgement to the Jedi before gesturing for the group to press onwards after drawing a line.  Revan contained a groan of exhaustion.  This was no place to rest.

They reentered the dwarven-built portion of the city.  The construction was imposing, and led them through what once was an impressive section.  Revan tried to imagine what the ruin would have looked like in its heyday.  She had trouble picturing it as a happy place, however.  Even in the sections free of spirits and malevolence, the place held a sadness that seemed to have been built into the walls.  This was a mausoleum, and the empty portions were the worst.  Every nerve in her body screamed for her to leave, to claw her way to the surface if she had to.  She could handle anger and hate, but this grief was oppressing.  Part of her wanted to give in, to sink against the wall and give up, to wallow in her wretchedness.  The primal part of her, however, was screaming at her to flee.  She used that to keep focused and keep moving.  She noticed a similar expression in Rose, but she squeezed the young woman’s arm in encouragement.  Rose set her expression and forged on.

The cavernous halls opened onto a bridge, one of the few intact.  As soon as she set foot on it, Revan’s hairs stood on end.  Something was wrong.  Rose and Alistair exchanged looks with her and each other, having also sensed it.  The two Wardens raised their shields in preparation.  There were darkspawn nearby – their senses were screaming it – but they could not see them.  Suddenly, Revan’s second sight kicked in as the darkspawn left the cover of the Stone.  A squad of shrieks were advancing, cloaked from sight.  Revan shouted a warning, and the party formed a defensive circle in the middle of the bridge.  Revan was the only one who could see them when they hid, and only because of her blind eye.  She stood between Zevran and Duran, senses cast out.  As the squad reached them, she called out to the others who were closest to the shrieks.  Rose thrust forward, connecting and severing the tendons of one’s arm.  A slash from _Asala_ sent one’s head flying over the side of the bridge into the trenches below.  A punch from Shale caused one to slide across the ground, its face and chest pulverized.  Morrigan, armed with one of Zevran’s many extra daggers, brought it down and connected with the skull of another shriek.  Duran next to Revan finished off the wounded one as it circled, waiting for an opening.  He cut upward, a direction it was not expecting, and caught it across the gut.  And lastly, Alistair, without prompting from Revan, bashed one with his shield, and upon connecting, finished it off with an overhead thrust.  Rose looked at her lover with newfound admiration.  Morrigan made a disgusted noise as he sheepishly explained that he had just felt that the shriek had been there.

The bridge led to a room that, when Rose pushed open the door, smelled of putrid flesh and corruption.  The party turned away their noses at the sudden affront, with the exception of Shale.  The room was obviously a burial chamber, but it had been repurposed by the darkspawn for some profane ritual or function.  Shrines of corruption had spread over the original dwarven structures, defiling the tombs of the fallen dwarves.  Rose led the way in, overcoming her instinctive revulsion.  But, a few steps in, an unnatural hiss emitted from the sarcophagi.  The lids opened as reanimated corpses, possessed by malicious spirits, poured from the sullied graves.  Alistair groaned, complaining about more corpses, obviously still not fully recovered from their ordeal at Redcliffe.  Morrigan sprayed a wall of fire upon the ground, inspired by Revan’s actions at the lake.  The corpses halted and waited for the warriors to come to them.  Duran, surprisingly, was the first one through the flames, oblivious to the tongues of fire licking his tattered clothes and singeing his disheveled beard.  As his sword connected with the rotting flesh of the first corpse, the others were spurred into action.  Shale pushed through, careful to guard its crystals so they did not crack from the heat.  Sten ran through beside it.  Oghren hesitated, but as Rose and Alistair ran through behind the cover of their shields, he followed reluctantly, swearing prolifically as he did.  Zevran, more cautious and less willing to dash through the flames, drew his bow again, though he was getting dangerously low on arrows.  Revan, meanwhile, focused her energy and drew on the power of the flames that Morrigan had conjured.  It was easier to manipulate energy rather than transforming it, so she was able to direct the fire.  The flames danced at her whim.  She created an inferno that whipped through the air, miraculously missing all her allies and scorching all her enemies.  The corpses, now alight, were quickly felled by either the blows of the party or by the touch of the fire.  As the last of the animated corpses dropped, once again lifeless, Revan consumed the bodies with the fire so they would never rise again.  And, while she was in control of the chaotic energy, she burned the corruption from the walls.  It irritated her.  Another line was drawn.

Rose led them into the next section of the ruins, another hallway, lined with cruel, black, twisted darkspawn constructions and the rancid, sticky taint dripping from the walls and the ceiling.  Rose proceeded cautiously, as the smell in the air had changed when she had opened the door.  Morrigan shifted uneasily, sensing something abnormal.  Which is when the voice spoke.

“First day, they come and catch everyone,” the voice narrated in a monotone that sent shivers up Revan’s spine.  She and Zevran exchanged looks as Morrigan’s hackles rose.  Revan kept her lightsabers in hand, as Zevran kept his daggers at the ready.

Rose only paused, disturbed, but the young Warden pressed on with renewed vigor, determined to find the source of the voice.  The rest followed warily.

“Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat,” the voice recited the next verse.

They entered a side tunnel obviously dug by darkspawn through a collapsed section of the dwarven hall.  Deep mushrooms glowed eerily in the dank passage.

“Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn,” the voice whispered evilly.

Revan shivered.  She was beginning to understand the subject of the macabre poem.

“Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams,” the voice said, haunted.

The tunnels began dripping with corruption, the black tar-like substance glinting malevolently in the artificial light of Morrigan’s magic light.

“Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew,” the voice seemed to shiver in horror.

Revan opened her mouth to try and warn Rose, but no words came out.  Her mouth was dry.  She hoped her suspicion was wrong.  But the only sounds in the oppressive stone was the clink of their armor and the piercing, echoing words formed by the voice.

“Eighth day, we hated as she is violated,” the voice spit venomously.

Rose, not needing Revan’s warning, twisted her head sharply to ask the Jedi what the voice spoke of.  But, upon seeing how pale Revan’s face had become, she decided better.  It was bad, and that was enough for Rose.  The Warden rolled her shoulders back, straightened her posture, and shook off her fear.  Her steps were confident, but her senses were alert.  Revan cast out with her senses, but the Stone weighed down upon her.  She saw and felt nothing, just the oppressiveness.

“Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin,” the voice shuddered.

Duran peeked around the corner between the excavated tunnels and the proud galleries of the dwarves, another conjunction between areas of the decrepit city.  He gestured for them to move forward.

“Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast.”

Alistair pushed open the door before them, Rose planted at the front with the two dwarves by her sides, ready to strike.  The door swung open with a rusty squeal.  Rose stepped back instinctively, even as the dwarves turned their faces away viscerally.  Morrigan arched her back in revulsion.  The room beyond was covered in flesh in various states of decay.  Some was obviously dwarven, the skin stretched over the bruised faces bursting with corruption, hair covered in various bodily fluids, armor rusted and weapons broken.  But some flesh belonged to things much more sinister.  This was not, however, the sight of a great battle.  It reminded Revan more of a butcher shop.  And in an adjoining room, scavenging through the flesh by a large fire, the only source of light, was a person.

The person, a dwarven woman, crouched, digging like a feral animal through the gangrenous flesh.  Her head was tilted to one side.  Her hair was filthy and matted and hung down as straight as the twisted strands would allow.  Her clothes were soiled and torn and stitched back together crudely.  Revan did not even have to see the dark bruising patterns on her arms and her dark varicose veins to know the woman was afflicted by the same malady as Ruck.  But this…this was far worse.

The woman began her hideous poem once again, her voice carried by the acoustics of the stone.  “First day, they come and catch everyone.  Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.  Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.  Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.  Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.  Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.  Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.  Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.  Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.  Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.”

Rose approached cautiously, careful to make noise as her feet shuffled across the floor so as to not frighten the woman.  Revan realized that the girl had never seen the corruption like this.  Knowing Rose, she would try to save the dwarf.  Revan kept close to her companion.

As Rose neared from behind, the dwarven woman realized that someone was present.  Slowly, she straightened, clutching her arms in front of her and scratching one absently.  Everything about her movements were unnatural.  She spun sluggishly, and Revan had to restrain herself from stabbing the woman immediately.  Her irises were pale and cloudy, almost white.  Her face was blistered with dark boils.  This woman was almost a ghoul, the last stage of the Blight, when the victim finally loses their mind and joins the darkspawn permanently.

“What is this?” the dwarf peered intently at them, head cocked to the side.  “A human?  Bland and unlikely.  Feeding time brings only kin and clan.  I am cruel to myself.  You are a dream of strangers’ faces and open doors.”

“By the Stone, Hespith?” Oghren gasped.

Rose turned to the Jedi.  “Is this darkspawn corruption?  It looks…different.”

The dwarf barked a cruel, callous laugh.  “Corruption!  The men did that!  Their wounds festered and their minds left.  They are like dogs, marched ahead, the first to die.  Not us.  Not me.  Not Laryn.  We are not cut.  We are fed.  Friends and flesh and blood and bile and…and….  All I could do was wish Laryn went first.  I wished it upon her so that I would be spared.  But I had to watch.  I had to see the change.  How do you endure that?  How did Branka endure?”

Revan looked to Oghren, but his face was inscrutable.  Rose took a step toward Hespith intimidatingly.  “What change?  What are they doing?”

“What they are allowed to do.  What they think they must.  And Branka…her lover, and I could not turn her.  Forgive her…but no, she cannot be forgiven.  Not for what she did.  Not for what she has become.”

The young Warden overcame her revulsion in her urgency and grabbed the dwarven woman by the shoulders.  “What did she do, Hespith?  What did Branka do?”

“I will not speak of her!” Hespith tore away, her voice raised.  “Of what she did, of what we have become!  I will not turn!  I will not become what I have seen!  Not Laryn!  Not Branka!”

The dwarven woman ran off, down deeper into the dwarven ruin.  Rose moved to go after her, but Revan grabbed her arm to delay her.

“What was she talking about?” Rose demanded.

“Darkspawn cannot reproduce by themselves,” Revan forced herself to say evenly.  “So, to produce more darkspawn, they capture females from other sentient species – dwarves, elves, humans, Qunari – and they…corrupt them.  They become monstrosities that others call broodmothers.”

The young Warden, to her credit, stood her ground and remained expressionless, even as the others within earshot shuddered in horror and disgust.  Rose nodded her understanding.  “We must go after her.  She knows where Branka is.”

Revan released her arm.  The fiery woman strode forward, undaunted, and led her compatriots boldly forward.  Revan lingered, a growing knot of dread welling up in her gut.  She feared little; she had stared down rancors and faced high dragons.  But everything about a broodmother was abhorrent, an affront to nature.  It stood in direct conflict with both the Dark and the Light.  The Architect had introduced her to one, once.  Revan had immediately fled its presence.  She could not look into its hateful, repugnant eyes that were beyond all reason, had lost all humanity.  And here she was, about to face one once again.  She braced herself and followed the party.

They left the room of corpses and found themselves on the other side of yet another collapsed bridge that had fallen into the chasm below.  They were heading away from the main horde, but Revan’s senses were on high alert now that she knew there was a broodmother lying in wait.  There would be others guarding their matron.

“She became obsessed…” Hespith’s voice echoed in the silent tomb.  “That is the word, but it is not strong enough.  Blessed Stone, there was nothing left in her but the Anvil.”

Rose took but a moment to assess where the dwarf had run to, and tried to follow, but the bellows of two ogres stopped the party in their tracks.  The beasts had emerged from the smaller side passages the darkspawn had dug, and their gleaming horns and cruel fangs made it difficult to believe that they had managed to fit in the narrow crevices.  One charged for Rose, and the other barreled toward Revan, sensing the newest Warden blood.  Rose tucked and rolled out of the way as it charged towards her, raising her shield as she regained her feet and keeping its attention as Duran and Alistair and Shale circled behind it.  Meanwhile, Revan leaped up high as it charged, and as it looked around, confused as to where she had gone, she landed on its skull.  Zevran started dancing around it, slashing at its tendons and distracting it from the Jedi atop it.  Sten aimed his powerful blows at its limbs as Revan grabbed the beast’s horns and tried to hang on until she could make a move.  Rose banged her shield, disorienting both of them.  Duran stuck his sword in between two vertebrae, but the ogre did not fall.  Oghren lodged his battleaxe in the other’s chest, eliciting a roar of defiance and pain.  As it roared, Revan pulled a lightsaber from her belt and held it to the ogre’s skull before activating the blade.  The blade plunged fully into the thick bone.  The ogre’s eyes rolled back into its skull, and as it fell, Revan jumped off and landed in a roll.  The other ogre, having been hamstrung by Alistair and blinded by a spell from Morrigan, was distracted long enough for Rose to drive her blade through the roof of its mouth and upwards into its skull.  For good measure, Oghren rushed over and slammed his battleaxe into its head, cleaving its skull in two.  Rose and Revan exchanged knowing, tired looks, but the young Warden beckoned her compatriots to continue following the dwarven woman.  They needed to find Branka.  Soon.

“We tried to escape, but they found us,” Hespith continued her tragedy.  “They took us all, turned us…”

Rose burst through a set of double doors and abruptly screeched to a stop.  The rest followed, and all stopped similarly.  Revan was the last to enter, and even she was taken aback.  Before them was, for lack of a better description, a proper burial chamber, untouched by the Blight.  The carvings were as clean as if they had been etched yesterday.  The chamber was grand, a testament to dwarven workmanship and to the genius of Caridin.  A relic carved with ancient dwarven on a raised dais stood in the center of the chamber.  There was an altar at the far back of the chamber.  This was a hall dedicated to the fallen warriors of the Legion of the Dead.  This was Bownammar.  The original Bownammar.

“I thought this place would have fallen into dust by now,” Oghren shared her sentiments.

“The spirits in Bownammar are strong,” Morrigan commented.

Revan pushed past her companions and made her way to the relic.  She read the words upon the face, and then went and explored the altar.  Curiously, the altar had a hidden compartment that contained a plethora of documents.  Duran joined her.

“By the Stone,” he whispered, skimming several sheets as Revan examined the others.  “This can’t be true!”

“I would think it is, Duran,” the Jedi read the ancient words.  “A noble joined the Legion willingly.  Technically, this gives the Legion the standing of a noble house, albeit a minor one.”

“Ancestor’s sodding ear hair, you can’t be serious!” Oghren overheard them and could not help but comment.

The Jedi handed him the documents.  “See for yourself.”

“The Shaperate must be informed,” Duran stated.

Oghren handed the papers to Rose, who had joined them out of curiosity.  She skimmed them and carefully added them to her pack, adding the ones Duran had after he was satisfied with their contents.  “We will.  After we find Branka and bring her back.”

They approached the doors leading out, back into the fortress, the way Hespith had run.  Her voice called out, echoed by the cavernous architecture of the old dwarves, “The men, they kill…they’re merciful.  But the women, they want.  They want to touch, to mold, to change until you are filled with them….”

They found themselves in a larger tunnel.  “They took Laryn.”  Her voice sounded closer now.  “They made her eat the others, our friends.  She tore off her husband’s face and drank his blood.”

They passed more fallen ruins of the dwarven fortress.  Revan felt like the earth was crushing down upon them.  The sense of revulsion was growing stronger, and her adrenaline was returning in full force, keeping her alert and ready to fight.

“And while she ate, she grew,” Hespith recounted.  “She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them.  They remade her in their image.  Then she made more of them.

“Broodmother…”

The smell alerted Revan first.  It was the smell of decay and putrid flesh and of the corruption of the Blight.  It was similar to the room they had found Hespith in, but there was an undercurrent here of fresh blood.  The ground became coated in some sticky, slick substance that she did not want to guess at.  Zevran moved closer to her.  Rose and Alistair started to sense the change in the air, and both drew their weapons and raised their shields.  Revan ignited her blades.  The rest readied their weapons.  As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, they saw it.  Rose and Alistair both stumbled backwards.  Oghren started swearing violently.  Even the unshakable Sten looked perturbed.  Shale frowned in disgust.  Zevran looked at Revan for consolation, but the Jedi was forcing herself to breathe instead of running away as her instincts told her to.  Morrigan looked to be fighting the same battle.  Duran turned away as if to retch.  Before them was a monstrosity.  What once had been a dwarven woman was now a distended, wriggling mass, a larval queen with an abdomen that pulsated sickeningly and blended into the rocky outcroppings of the chamber, the flesh growing over the stone for support.  Her chest had expanded, mutating into rows of darkened breasts swollen from her unnatural pregnancy.  Tentacles had erupted from her body like some disturbed sea creature.  Her head had deformed as well, her maw open and rotting with gangrene, her eyes savage and hollow like the darkspawn she birthed.  There was nothing left of Laryn.

The broodmother looked up at their approach.  It was blocking the only route out of the cavern besides the way they had come.  It opened its mouth, and a shrieking cry tumbled out.  It roared, realizing that the company was not its horde.  Hespith hid in the shadows.  Rose took a step forward.  Then another.  Then she was running to face the beast, the young Warden having realized its abhorrent nature.  The rest followed her.  Too late, however, Revan realized that the substance on the ground was the broodmother’s flesh.  The broodmother shot tentacles out, intent to knock the intruders’ off their feet.  Rose narrowly avoided being swiped off her feet by diving to the side.  Alistair deflected one with his shield, though it knocked him back a pace.  Shale, too slow, had one wrap around its arm as the flesh beneath the golem crawled up its legs, trapping it.  Sten took heed and kept moving, using _Asala_ as a cleaver to cut into the tentacles or deflect them.  Morrigan, realizing that her friends were in danger, shifted into the form of a falcon and began diving at the broodmother’s head, swooping between flailing tentacles.  Duran and Oghren were struggling since their usual style of fighting involved letting the enemy come to them.  Oghren had just been knocked on his back from a sweeping tentacle, and Duran was running in zigzags, vainly trying to get to the broodmother’s fetid body.  Zevran was more in his element, dodging nimbly.  His feet barely touched the floor, and his blades were a blur.  Several tentacles came away cut and oozing with dark, black blood.  Meanwhile, Revan rolled under one tentacle, came up, and swung her blades down, cutting one tentacle into chunks, the first significant blow to the broodmother.  Even Sten and Oghren’s large weapons were struggling cleaving through the broodmother’s thick, sticky flesh.  The broodmother screamed before focusing its sickly eyes on the Jedi.  Revan leaned back, letting a tentacle pass over her head, but she quickly realized that she had become the main target.  She ducked and pirouetted as the broodmother reached its arms towards her, intent on killing the one causing it the most pain.  Revan cut through three more tentacles before she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of appendages.  She tried slicing through them in a large arc, but one that she had cut previously had just enough reach to knock a leg out from under her as she focused on the ones aimed for her head.  She faltered, falling to a knee, and before she could raise her lightsabers, the tentacles had begun wrapping around her.  She tried pushing them away with the Force, but the broodmother had secured her.  The tentacles wrapped tighter, coiling around her torso and her legs, squeezing her painfully as they lifted her into the air.  Her lightsabers dropped to the ground as the limbs enveloped her hands, pressing them to her body uselessly.  Revan screamed in futility, trying to fight against the crushing force of the broodmother.  She tried freezing the limbs, then burning them, but the broodmother would not relinquish her catch, and Revan’s strength was fading.

Zevran saw the Jedi in danger and dashed toward her.  Revan glimpsed him from the corner of her eye and yelled down, “Zev, my lightsaber!”  He slid across the slick floor, under another appendage coming to bind Revan and squeeze the life from her.  He grabbed one of the metal cylinders and for a moment stared at it in awe.  It was a powerful weapon.  Revan, fighting to push against the tentacles, gritted her teeth.  “Form four, Ataru!” she grunted as the broodmother brought its prey closer, intent on watching the life leave her eye.  Revan was not going to let it have the satisfaction.  She clung on.  Zevran, meanwhile, activated the blade, the green light illuminating his face as a smile spread across it.  Ataru was one of the more difficult and dangerous forms for Jedi, as it was incredibly acrobatic, but in a situation like this, with arms flailing everywhere and others fighting their own battles against the broodmother, it was the most logical.  It allowed Zevran to maneuver and be unpredictable.  However, Revan had had to modify it, as he did not have the Force to assist him in the moves.  Regardless, Zevran had adapted to it well, and he was soon leaping and dodging and sliding around the monstrosity with ease, slicing through the unfortunate tentacles that came within reach.  He was making progress to Revan’s tentacles when Duran cried out a warning.  The broodmother’s shrieks had alerted the darkspawn nearby, and soon arrows from the darkspawn defending their mother were flying overhead.  Revan divided her attention between surviving and deflecting the projectiles with her mind.  A slimy limb wrapped around her mouth.  The broodmother was intent on squashing her head.  Duran and Sten rushed for the flanking darkspawn.  Rose finally made her way to the broodmother’s torso and with a roar, plunged her blade into the folds of its flesh.  The broodmother retched black blood, but otherwise just stared down at the Warden and spewed corruption toward her.  Rose raised her shield just in time, but her blade was firmly stuck in the rancid flesh.  Alistair was suspended in the air with Revan, hanging from his ankle as the broodmother coiled a tentacle around his leg and debated whether to bash him against the ground or toss him aside.  Oghren was firmly encased in the dark ooze of the flesh that had spread across the ground, as if he was stuck in quicksand.  Shale was immobilized.  Morrigan was harrying the broodmother, but the beast just feebly swatted at the witch with its vestigial arms.  Zevran, flying around the battlefield, hit a patch of the flesh that was slicker than he had anticipated.  He skidded across the ground, and the lightsaber flew from his hand, landing against a rocky wall several paces away.  Zevran rolled to his feet, only to be swept up with a grunt by a tentacle meant to decapitate him.  It sent the elf flying several feet backwards, and he fell to the floor with a sickening crunch.  Revan tried to cry out, but the appendages were tightening around her throat.

She looked to the assassin, lying motionless on the floor.  She saw the young Warden trying to pull her blade free.  She saw Sten fending off an alpha, teeth gritted as he matched blow for blow.  She saw Alistair get whipped around through the air.  She met the broodmother’s aberrant gaze and with all of her remaining strength, thought one word that echoed between them.

_Burn._

The broodmother’s eyes seemed to catch fire from behind, then they exploded outward.  The atrocity opened its mouth to scream, but as it did, its mouth and throat filled with flame.  It started writhing in pain as the fire scorched it from the inside.  The tentacle holding Alistair aloft dropped him unceremoniously.  The appendages recoiled, drawn back to try and smother the flames that the broodmother could not see.  The crushing force on Revan’s body abated as the tentacles released their hold and unwound from her body.  They drew back, and Revan fell to the ground and landed softly on her feet, balanced by a hand.  She grabbed her other lightsaber, but there was no need.  Her flames were consuming the rotted flesh of Laryn’s corrupted body.  The wound where Rose had stabbed it was now blackened by the internal flame, and Rose managed to pull her sword free.  The broodmother’s guts finally caught fire and began cooking, and its entrails burst from its body.  The broodmother, in its final moments, flailed as it tried to extinguish the flames in vain as its flesh seared and charred.  The darkspawn ran to its aid heedlessly, only to be cut down by Sten, Duran, and Morrigan.  Rose, seeing that she could do nothing more about the beast, gestured for Revan to help her free Oghren and Shale.  Revan cut away the flesh holding the two captive, and it burned away easily.  Oghren rose shakily to his feet, and with great effort they managed to help Shale right itself.  Revan rushed to Zevran’s aid immediately after, just as Rose rushed to Alistair’s.

She checked his head first, worried about a concussion or a cracked skull, but there was no blood.  She looked for any obvious injuries, but there was no blood besides that of the broodmother.  She whispered his name, and his eyes flickered.  A good sign.  He slowly came to, his eyes cracking open.  He moaned in pain.  Revan waited for him to be able to speak before asking where it hurt.  He pointed to his ribs; the landing had refractured his still-healing ribs.

“Wynne is going to be furious,” he commented as Revan helped him sit up.

She laughed, but he froze as he saw the sight in front of them.  The corpse of the broodmother was engulfed in bright white flames, the acrid smoke rolling off thick and black as it spiraled up towards the high cavern ceiling.  Its torso was slumped over, like a suit without the body within.  Its abdomen spurted and sizzled as it and the spawn within burned.  It was a gruesome sight, but the two could not look away.  The fire worked its way outward, so the last thing to burn away was the skin and bones.  The remnants of the broodmother collapsed upon themselves in a pile of charred bone and blackened ash.  Alistair took one look at the corpse and was forced to turn away, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the dead flesh of the broodmother.  Morrigan shifted back into human form and started to laugh at the Templar for his weak stomach, but the overwhelming odor of charred flesh made her retch as well.  Rose looked at the scene with hardened eyes and refused to be swayed.

Hespith emerged from her hiding place in the shadows.  She locked eyes with Rose first, who was helping Alistair to his feet.  “That’s where they come from.  That’s why they hate us…that’s why they need us.  That’s why they take us…that’s why they feed us.  But the true abomination…is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed.  Branka…my love….”

The dwarven woman hung her head, then walked toward the chasm at the rear of the chamber.  “The Stone has punished me, dream-friend.  I am dying of something worse than death.  Betrayal.”

Hespith spread her arms, as if embracing the void, and fell forward.  She uttered no more haunting words, not even a scream.  Revan scooched closer to Zevran for comfort, knowing there was nothing else that could be done.  She was reminded painfully of Lyna, and forced the tears back.  She had caused this.  Zevran, as if sensing her emotional turmoil, laid a comforting hand on hers and squeezed, a gentle reminder of his presence.  She managed a small, sad smile in gratitude.  They remained sitting together for a while as the rest gathered themselves and dispatched the last of the darkspawn.  Rose strode over to the passage in the back, near the broodmother, and drew another line along the ground.  Sten fetched Revan’s borrowed lightsaber and returned it to her, but he refused to sit, knowing that if he did, he would not rise until he had rested.  Revan knew that if she stood, she would not be able to remain upright without assistance.  The fire had taken what remained of her energy, and it was difficult for her to keep her eyes open, despite the horrors they had faced. 

But they had to press forward.  They had to.

* * *

 

Something in the caves changed.  Revan did not know exactly when it had happened.  She had stumbled through the tunnels behind the broodmother, drained of almost all energy, and had let her more capable companions deal with the few darkspawn they had encountered after.  It was all she could do to support Zevran with his fractured ribs.  And she could not ask Shale or Sten to assist them, as both were at the front warding off attackers.  After hours of shuffling through the tunnels beyond Bownammar, the Wardens agreed that the presence of the darkspawn had faded, and that they could pitch camp.  Everyone, disregarding the golem, was on the verge of collapse after a grueling day.  They went about their chores methodically, not bothering to cook, and most merely laid out their bedrolls and immediately slept.  Revan, however, forced herself to use what little reserve she could manage to knit Zevran’s bones enough that he could move.

“Revan, please, I’ll be fine,” he had insisted as she used the last of her power.

She had, of course, ignored him, and practically collapsed next to him after the bones had been loosely knitted together.  Her limbs shook violently and simultaneously felt like lead.  Zevran’s eyes filled with concern and something…else, but it was quickly extinguished.  Luckily, she had laid her bedroll next to his and just rolled onto it.  The assassin looked about to say something, but his eyelids drooped dangerously, and within moments exhaustion took hold.  Revan watched the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he relaxed before turning over.  Sten was glaring at her, unblinking.

“What?” she managed to ask.

“You are letting your emotions cloud your judgement,” he informed her.

She sighed.  This time, Sten had a point.  “I have been rather careless lately.”

Sten seemed satisfied with her response.  “Sleep, _Kadan_.  But heed my warning.”

Revan nodded, the only reply she could muster, and soon fell asleep for the first time in days.  As a consequence, however, her dreams were plagued by images from Urthemiel’s mind.  It was a dark, twisted place, but one Revan was uneasily familiar with.  She saw through his eyes, seeing the massive armies of darkspawn beneath his wings.  She heard his commands echo to his servants, felt his beautiful, whispered song vibrate through her being, exalted in his terrible majesty.  Within his mind, she examined his thoughts, careful not to alert the Archdemon to her presence within, and caught glimpses of his locations, whispers of thoughts and ideas of strategy.  Most prevalent was a place with a long, still lake and cliff sides of red earth.  He had seen it in the Wardens’ minds, their memories of the place strong, especially in Alistair’s.  The Archdemon had realized its importance and had come to the conclusion that Redcliffe must be eliminated.

She awoke with a gasp.  The others were still sleeping in the kind of rest that only comes from pure exhaustion.  Only Shale was awake, ever watchful.  She found she was sweating, her hair plastered to her face.  Revan forced herself to breathe, focusing on the Jedi techniques she had learned as a child in order to still her body and her mind.  It took longer than normal – Urthemiel’s presence was unsettling – but finally she felt her heart slow, her breathing steady, her muscles relax.  She would have to tell Rose and Alistair about her dream.  They needed to know.  They needed to know Urthemiel was planning on assaulting Redcliffe.  But, as she opened her eye, she saw them sleeping peacefully, still holding each other’s hands in comfort, and she knew she could not wake them now.  Better to let them have some peace; it would be short lived as it was.

So, it was only her and Shale that were awake when the darkspawn approached.  Too late, Revan realized the cave they had chosen was too open and had multiple connecting tunnels hidden within the crevassed walls.  From the walls spilled shrieks, hissing as they encircled their prey.  Revan jumped to her feet and drew her lightsabers in one quick motion.  Shale noticed the darkspawn at the same time and lumbered over to one, pulverizing it instantly with its fists.  Revan sped on silent feet to the nearest, her blades slicing through the shriek’s torso with the hiss of burning flesh.  It fell with a strangled scream.  Her companions began to rouse, awoken by the cries of the dying darkspawn.  The Jedi was already moving on to the next shriek, dancing around the creature that relied on stealth, confusing it with her own speed before decapitating it.  Shale had grabbed one that had jumped on it and flung the offending darkspawn against the stone wall of the cave, leaving a dark stain as the body slid down.  Duran had been the first to clamor to his feet and had flung himself at the nearest shriek, startling it with his ferocity.  Morrigan had blasted one with a fireball, and now it twitched on the ground, covered in burns.  Revan rushed one, sliding under its feet, and slicing upwards.  It died even before it hit the ground.  As Revan regained her feet, she felt one behind her.  She brought her blades around in an arc, intent on loping its head off.  But she stopped mere a hair’s breadth away.

“Tamlen?” she barely breathed, unbelieving the evidence before her eyes.

But this was not Tamlen.  The once handsome elf had been reduced to a husk of his former self.  His skin was blotted with dark grey patches of corrupted flesh, his eyes cloudy, his hair falling out in chunks.  His armor hung in stained, dirty tatters, his blades rusted and nicked.  His face was contorted in pain.  He looked at her, uncomprehending, until some recognition sparked in his glazed eyes.

“You… _Mi’harel…lethallan_...” he spoke through dry, cracked lips, as if speaking was something foreign to him.  She reached for him, but he shied away.  “Don’t…don’t come near me!  Stay away!”

He tried to turn away and run, but Revan was faster than him.  She grabbed his pauldrons and spun him towards her, but he held up his hands to shield his face.  “Don’t…look at me!  I am…sick…”

“I know, _lethallin_ ,” she said soothingly, “but we can help you.  Don’t be afraid.”

“No help,” he sobbed.  “No…help for me.  The song…in my head.  It…calls to me.  He sings to me!  I can’t stop it!  Don’t want…to hurt you, _Mi’harel_.  Please…stop me…”

Revan choked back tears.  She was reminded of the day they had found Lyna.  She should have been with them.  She could have stopped them from entering those ruins, from finding the _Eluvian_ , from succumbing to the Blight.  It broke her heart to see Tamlen like this.  But she would not let him see that.  He needed a friend, more than anything.  She knew what he must have gone through, especially to end up here, in the Deep Roads, accompanying Urthemiel’s dread army.

“Please,” she begged, “let me at least try to help you.”

“Too far,” he shook his head, more hair falling to the ground.  “You cannot help me.  I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” she enfolded him in an embrace.  He resisted at first, but he collapsed in her arms, the last vestiges of his humanity clinging to this small display of kindness. 

“Lyna…” he muttered.  “Is she…?”

“She’s fine, _lethallin_ ,” Revan lied.

“Could you…tell her…tell her that I always loved her?” Tamlen pleaded.

A single tear escaped Revan’s eye as she nodded.  Tamlen saw, and bowed his head.  “I hope you will forgive me.”

He looked up at her and managed something like a smile.  “ _Ma ghilana mir din’an_.”

She did not respond.  Instead, she put the cold metal cylinder of her lightsaber to his heart and activated it.  He gasped, but he died instantly in her arms.  His still-warm body went limp, draped over her.  Only then did she allow herself more tears, the warm liquid falling onto the mottled face of her old friend, the one that had saved her and, despite all his misgivings and distrust, had accepted her.  And she had lied to him, the ultimate betrayal.

A hand rested on her shoulder.  It was Sten, his large hand a comforting and familiar presence.  He said nothing, knowing that she was grieving, but reminding her gently that they had other duties.  She looked around.  The shrieks had been slain, and the others seemed merely disgruntled that they had been aroused from their sleep.  Zevran stood nearby, looking even more concerned than before.  Rose and Alistair stood nearby, Rose wanting to go to Revan but Alistair holding her back, knowing that his General needed a moment.  As soon as their eyes locked, however, Alistair released her, and the young Warden approached cautiously.  Zevran joined her.

“Was he a friend…?” Rose asked gently, gesturing to the body of the ghoul.

Revan looked down at the young man in her arms.  “Yes.  My clan mate.  His name was Tamlen.”

Rose laid a comforting hand on her arm.  “I do not know Dalish funeral customs, but we can find something to burn him on.”

The memory of Lyna’s own pyre came to mind.  She put it from her mind.  “I will do it.  It falls to me as part of the clan.”

Rose gestured for the others to clear a space in the middle of camp.  The dwarves found it odd, but the solemnity of the rest of the party made them keep their comments to themselves.  Even Oghren was sobered by Revan’s anguished expression.  Revan laid her burden to rest in the center of their disheveled camp and took a step back.  The others hung back, standing in the shadows, strangers to her rituals and her grief.  Remembering the words of mourning, she recited the rites, the hot white fire magically springing to life as they engulfed the body of the young hunter, the smoke thick and black.  Revan wept bitterly through the elven words she chanted as the flames crackled and the body turned to ash.  Tamlen had been young, in love, with so much to live for, and yet he had ended his life in the cold darkness of the Deep Roads, alone, his love dead by the same plague that had ultimately killed him.  He had done nothing to deserve this.  Her anger at the injustice made the fire roar hotter.  There was only one thought that lingered as she stared into the bright white flames that danced about the ashes of the young man’s corpse: the Blights had to end.

* * *

 

This section of the Deep Roads seemed strangely empty.  After the ambush by shrieks, the party had been relatively unimpeded by darkspawn, only encountering small scouting parties that were quickly dispatched.  They were away from the main horde and the Archdemon now, so the Grey Wardens could rest more easily, but Revan could not sleep.  Tamlen’s clouded eyes haunted her every time she closed her eyes.  Zevran kept her company during their designated sleeping period, claiming his ribs prevented him from sleeping, but Revan suspected he was worried about her reaction to the ghoul.  She appreciated the company, but every “night” she would gently lure him to sleep.  He needed it; she would survive without.  This was not the first desperate mission she had undertaken that deprived her of rest and amenities.  There were far less hospitable places in the galaxy.  However, she was glad the darkspawn presence had lessened.  Now, though, a different song haunted her as they moved: the song of lyrium.

She had heard the song a few times in her life.  The first was with the Architect many years ago.  She had found the melody of the magical substance enchanting, but the Architect had warned her that contact with it could kill her or drive her mad.  This had been verified by all the mages she had discussed it with after.  The second time she had felt the music flow through her was in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  It had been incredibly strong there, and she had almost insisted on staying, to see if she could find it.  It seemed to her that she could see it behind the walls of the temple, reaching toward the Urn and branching through the mountain the holy site had been carved into.  Only with force of will had she left that place.  Now, the song had returned, echoing through the stone of the Deep Roads, beckoning her forward.  Revan now led the way for the party, drawn by the strange harmony.  It was very different from the song of the Archdemon, and yet it was similar in that it was a song that could not be heard, but felt throughout the body.  Its structure was different, purer than the chaotic, impulsive melody of the Blight, but it was still captivating.  It helped distract her from the image of Tamlen seared in her mind’s eye.  And it meant they were drawing near the Anvil of the Void.  For the Anvil could only have been made with a vast supply of energy, if it had made the golems, and the nearby vein of lyrium was certainly enough to have powered it.

As the song grew stronger, and the walls started to glow with the thin tendrils of lyrium capillaries, they came across a larger cavern.  Immediately, Revan felt something was wrong, but too late, Sten in the rear activated a hidden switch and craftily hidden barriers rose behind them, trapping them in a small clearing.  Revan swore, backing up to form a defensive formation with her fellow Wardens.  The others spread out behind them, ready to let the Grey Wardens deal with any darkspawn threat that approached.  Instead, however, a dwarf appeared on a rock outcropping on the far side of the clearing.  She wore superb armor, a shield and a battle hammer slung on her back, and bore a condescending scowl that immediately set Revan’s teeth on edge.  She prepared her magic.

“Let me be blunt with you,” the dwarven woman began.  “After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited.  That doesn’t bother you, I hope.”

“Well shave my back and call me an elf!  Branka?” Oghren exclaimed in delight, earning a dirty look from Zevran.  “By the Stone, I barely recognized you!”

“Oghren,” Branka greeted him far more coolly.  “It figures you’d eventually find your way here.  Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily.”  The Paragon turned her attentions to Rose, who, besides Oghren, was the first to lower her weapon and resume her position as leader of the party.  “And how shall I address you?  Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me?  Or just the only one who didn’t mind Oghren’s ale-breath?”

“Be respectful, woman!  You’re talking to a Grey Warden!” the surly dwarf growled.

“Ah, so an important errand boy, then,” Branka patronized.  “I suppose something serious has happened.  Is Endrin dead?  That seems most likely.  He was on the old and wheezy side.”

Duran scowled noticeably and tensed, obviously offended by her words, but Revan grasped his shoulder to calm him.  They needed Branka, despite her abrasive manners and morally repugnant decisions.  Revan did happen to share a similar view on her as the exiled prince, however.  She wanted nothing more than to walk away and pretend they had never met the Paragon.  It was the kindest thing Revan could do.  After all, according to Hespith, this woman had willingly sacrificed members of her house to the darkspawn and let the atrocities turn them into broodmothers.

Rose was more tactful and more restrained than both of them, it seemed.  Swallowing her pride and opinions, she simply stated facts: “Orzammar needs a new king to defend against a Blight.”

“A king won’t defeat a Blight,” Branka practically spit.  “We’ve had forty generations of kings and lost everything.  I don’t care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne.  Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting.  The Anvil of the Void.  The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first Archdemon to ever rise.  It’s here.  So close I can taste it.”

Rose’s careful expression slipped, hardening as she realized that if Branka had truly found it, they would not be having this conversation.  “But of course, there is a catch.”

Branka smirked.  “The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself.  My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets.  _This_ is what’s important.  _This_ has lasting meaning.  If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit.  Kings, politics…all that is transitory.  I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void.”

“Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?” Duran could not resist and accused her as the Paragon’s words echoed familiarly in Revan’s head.

“Enough questions!” Branka deflected.  “If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil.  There is only one way out, Warden.  Forward.  Through Caridin’s maze and out to where the Anvil awaits.”

Rose looked to Revan for confirmation, hoping that the Jedi could sense any tunnels leading away from this place.  She could not, and shook her head just enough that Rose got the message.  They were indeed trapped; perhaps, with time, they could break the trap that had engaged behind them, but the Jedi was familiar enough with dwarven engineering to know that such a feat would take time.

“What has this place done to you!?” Oghren demanded as the two women conversed silently.  “I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance.”

Branka leveled a cold eye on the man she had once called her husband.  “I am your Paragon.”  And with that, she departed, leaving the group to decide what to do next.

Oghren’s face fell in heartbreak, and Revan turned her attention to him, though he waved her off dismissively before she had even said a word.  Duran still fumed, but he had the social graces to do so quietly.  They all waited for Rose to make a decision.  Not that there was much of a choice.  If they were to get back to Orzammar before they exhausted their supplies, they had to press forward.  Revan and Duran examined the trap that had been set up behind them and determined that it would take a few days to break down, even with magic, as it was made of fortified silverite and stone.  They had just enough food to get them back to the Legionnaires and their brontos as it was, provided their journey to the Anvil took the rest of their “day”.

“Forward, then,” Rose conceded.  “Let’s see what we shall have to figure out for the Paragon.”

They made their way around the outcropping and found themselves in a makeshift camp.  The camp seemed to have been deserted for a while, the tents half collapsed, the supply bags fallen and empty.  Corruption stained the stone beneath.

Branka’s disembodied voice came from somewhere else in the camp.  “I needed people to test Caridin’s traps,” she explained, detached.  “There is no way to break through except by trial and error.  I sent them in.  They were all mine, pledged to be my house, and they didn’t want to help.  They tried to leave me, even my Hespith….  But even she couldn’t understand that when you reach for greatness, there are sacrifices.  As many sacrifices as are needed.”

The words bit Revan to the core.  They were words she herself had uttered, so many years ago, justifying her actions, soothing the guilt of the destruction and death she had wrought.  Was she truly like this woman?  Was she so morally bankrupt that she would have sacrificed her followers to obtain a weapon to defeat her enemies?  Revan knew that the answer was yes.  She had, in fact.  She had sacrificed her army at Malachor V, she had sacrificed Meetra Surik and Alec.  And she hated herself for it.  And she was not sure she would not do it again.

In the middle of the camp, as the others looked for where Branka might have gone, the Wardens sensed the arrival of darkspawn.  They crawled out of the shadows of the tunnels in front of them, connecting to the camp.  The party assumed a defensive posture, one formed after days of constant battle and companionship, and waited for the darkspawn to reach them.  The warriors, with their larger weapons and thicker armor, were arrayed in front, staggered and spread out just enough to have freedom of movement, but close enough that they could aid one another.  The mages stood behind, using their abilities to support their companions and deal devastating damage with their mastery of the elements.  Zevran, their lone rogue, stayed on the edges, darting between enemies and hassling those that caused issues for the warriors.  Shale plunged into the thick of the darkspawn, carving a dent into their numbers that slowed their assault on the defensive line.  Their tactics were effective, and as Zevran and Shale cleared the last of the archers on the far side of the camp, Revan saw Branka watching detachedly from a perch above camp, on a rocky outcropping she had climbed.

“She shouldn’t have gone,” Branka said, as if they had not just killed a band of darkspawn in front of her.  She seemed reminiscent.  “She was pledged to me.  She swore she’d do whatever it took to find the Anvil.  There was no other choice.  Most of them were dying of the taint already, but some…some of the women were…transforming.  I knew what they would become.  There would be an endless supply, fresh darkspawn to test the traps.  They could still serve me, let me find the Anvil.  It was the only way.”

Branka sounded like she was pleading for someone to understand her.  Revan only snarled, her nature conflicted.  She understood Branka.  She understood the choices the Paragon had made, understood why she had done those terrible things.  And yet, the image of the broodmother filled her with disgust.  Such a thing was against all of nature, Light and Dark alike.  To let something like that exist was abhorrent, no matter the reward.  But what if the reward was to make an army that would destroy all such creatures, so that they might never plague the world again?

“You have no idea how they carried on, holding my hand and begging to die,” Branka continued as more darkspawn poured in.  Revan tried to drown out the dwarven woman’s terrible words with the snarls of the darkspawn, but the words echoed in her head.  “They had pledged me their loyalty!  They had no right to fight me.  They say your order is renowned for its wits as well as its brawn.  Perhaps you’ll do better than my poor clansmen.  There’s something about this place…it makes people despair.”

An ogre charged from the largest tunnel.  Revan gritted her teeth and charged, her emotions unstable as her morality battled with her practicality.  Rose yelled for her to stop, but the blood rushing through her ears made the Jedi deaf to her leader’s words.  The ogre swiped at her head.  She dropped to her knees and slid under, past his guard.  She activated her lightsabers as she slid, angling them upward.  They sliced easily through the ogre’s thick arm, cleanly cleaving through bone and blackened flesh.  The ogre roared in pain as the clawed fist fell uselessly to the ground.  It tried to stomp on her, but she rolled to the side.  She cut at the offending leg with one blade, distracting the beast as she deactivated the other and flung it at the ogre’s head.  Just before it impacted, as the tip angled toward its skull, Revan activated it with the Force.  The blade sprung to life, the searing plasma piercing the skull without effort.  The hilt bounced off the skull as the ogre’s eyes rolled back in its head.  Revan jumped up, infused with energy from the Force, propelling herself off the falling body of the darkspawn, and caught the blade as she tucked for the landing.  She panted from the exertion and looked around for more enemies to slaughter to quench her bloodlust, but the others had dispatched the rest.  Rose positively fumed, but said nothing.  It was Alistair who addressed her as the group progressed towards the tunnels leading forward.

“General…” he began awkwardly.  “Your eye is doing that thing again.  You know, where it glows yellow?”

Revan closed it and practiced her breathing exercises, fighting for control.  He was right.  Her dual nature was fighting within her again, and her encounters with Urthemiel had not helped.  “I do not like this place.”

“Nor do I,” Alistair admitted.  “But we’ve got to do what Branka wants.  We need all the allies we can get.  You taught me that, remember?”  Revan nodded, remembering their lessons.  Alistair clapped her on the back.  “I’ve got your back, General.  You can count on me.  Just don’t go exploding on us.  Fire and confined spaces usually doesn’t work out so well.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” she smiled at him, reminded of their purpose.  She had to center herself.  Branka had been right about one thing: this place made people despair.  The Veil was thin here.  The lyrium veins seemed to exacerbate the problem.  This place felt like it was about to erupt with magical energy, and Revan was the catalyst.  If she lost her temper, if she lost control, the Veil would rip open with a torrent of chaotic magic and demons would come pouring out, probably destroying the caverns and the Anvil in the process.  She had come close with the ogre to losing herself.  She could not afford to be so careless again.

They made their way into the tunnels, away from the camp that had once housed Branka’s house.  The tunnels were littered with corpses.  Some were dwarven, clad in the armor and clothing of the Paragon’s house.  Others were darkspawn, their putrid flesh reeking of the taint.  And still, as the picked their way through, they would occasionally come upon a golem, its runes dark.  It seemed that the constructs could be deactivated permanently, its magical circuitry disrupted, much as a droid.  Revan wished they could stop so she could figure it out, but Rose pressed valiantly forward, well aware of their time constraints.  Revan hoped that, if they came upon a golem, they would be able to stop it.  They passed through several rooms that Branka had managed to disable, as evidenced by the piles of dwarven and darkspawn bodies piled within that had been sacrificed.  It was difficult to ascertain the exact traps, but one looked to have been some cleverly hidden blades scattered throughout the chamber, and one seemed to be pressure plates that had to have been activated in a specific order, otherwise the adventurer would fall through the false tile into a pit below.  Still others were beyond Revan’s initial examination.  But Branka had made at least some progress into the maze.

Rose stopped short as the tunnel narrowed to a singular stone archway that led into a room, made by dwarven hands.  They gathered around her; this was the first of Caridin’s traps that Branka had not been able to pass.  The room seemed filled with some kind of strange yellow-green gas, and four large golems stood watch.  Morrigan shifted into the form of a shaggy dog and sniffed the misty air before shifting back into human form, her nose wrinkled.

“It smells horrid,” she waved air past her nostrils.  “I suspect poison.”

“What did it smell like?” Zevran, their resident poison expert, asked.

“Nasty and strong,” she responded, earning an annoyed glare from the assassin.  “Fine!  It had the distinct odor of pepper and pineapple and made me taste metal.  Does that help?”

“Ah, yes, bertholite,” he nodded sagely.  “Nasty stuff, makes your eyes and lungs burn until you choke and die.  Not a terribly pleasant way to go.  Also, very tricky to make.  I’m surprised a dwarf made enough of it to fill a room.”

They peered in the room, looking for the source of the gas.  It seemed to be filling from a vent in the floor that ejected it upwards.  As the examined the room from the entrance, Duran pointed out four valves on the sides of the room connected to a system of chains that, hypothetically, closed the gas vent.  They began debating how they would close the valves when Revan cleared her throat.

“Firstly, I may be able to close the valves with the Force, if you will give me a moment, and Shale does not need to breathe,” Revan announced.  The others silenced their suggestions at her proposition.  “And if that does not work, a Jedi can hold their breath for an extended period of time and resist most poisons.  I can go in.”

Rose nodded, agreeing with her plan.  Shale trudged in with a grunt of protest at being volunteered, making its way to a valve on the right.  Revan braced herself and focused on the room beyond.  She felt the gears of a valve on the left attached to the chains, and with the Force began turning the mechanisms.  The valve, after centuries of disuse, squeaked in protest as the valve slowly spun to a close.  The panel slid into place with a click, just as Shale’s did, but the closing of the plates activated runes that had been hidden on the bodies of the panels.  The golems nearest the valves activated, their inscribed runes flaring with magical light.  The one nearest Shale brought its significantly larger form down upon the freed golem, and as the great rock monstrosities collided in a titanic battle, the other turned its attention to the mortals in the doorway.  Revan swore, focused and started turning the next mechanism as the golem grabbed a stone slab from the floor and pried it up.  The valve closed, her desperation increasing her power, but another golem flared to life and trudged toward the party as the first threw the stone slab at their heads.  Everyone ducked in time, and Oghren split the stone with his battleaxe.  Revan knew she needed to distract the golems from the easy target that the clustered companions made.  She took a deep breath and dashed into the poisonous room.  She darted past the embattled Shale to the last valve and began furiously twisting the valve as the other golems split up, one going after the new target and the other focusing on the party.  The Force made it easier for her to hold her breath and resist the noxious effects of the gas, but she did not have much time.  She at last twisted it fully closed, just as the golem slammed down.  She rolled aside, and the golem’s fist crushed the valve and the spot where she had just been.  The vent had been closed, but the gas lingered.  Revan tried summoning a wind to push it aside, but the golem bore down upon her, intent on killing its prey, even as the last came to life.

Revan dashed to the side, her muscles screaming for oxygen.  The golem, having no need for such mundane necessities such as air, lumbered after her, tearing up chunks of the stone tiles that patterned the floor and lobbing them at her.  She narrowly dodged the missiles, and the others she deflected with the Force.  Luckily, Morrigan had realized that the Jedi was overwhelmed, and a thin wind blew into the room, circling and pushing the poisonous gas to the edges.  Soon after, her companions rushed in to assault the golems.  Morrigan had morphed into a bulky bronto and rammed into the fourth, knocking it over and buying the group some time to deal with the others.  Shale was still grappling with the first, though the larger golem had damaged some of its crystals and caused fissures in its rocky exterior.  Revan tried to lose her golem by ducking between the great blows the two golems were exchanging.  The golem chasing her, not having the same mental capabilities as Shale, collided with its compatriot, sending them both down.  They struggled to rise due to their mass.  Shale used the opportunity to rip off their heads with tremendous effort, but it seemed to be effective.  The hostile contraptions ceased moving, and the runes ceased glowing.  Half the party circled the golem nearest the entrance, while the other half had gone to help Morrigan with the fourth.  As Rose and Alistair harried theirs, Sten used his significantly longer reach and weapon to lope the rocky head off, the steel of _Asala_ sending sparks flying as it collided with the stone.  Oghren, still distraught at the disturbing reunion with his wife, and roared a battle cry and lunged for the one Morrigan had tipped, and had brought the blade of his battleaxe down on its neck.  Apparently, they did not need to disrupt whatever magical circuitry lay within them; decapitating them seemed to be effective enough.

The next trap was decidedly more deceptive.  Again, they stopped in front of the door leading to the chamber and considered what might be in wait.  The room seemed simple enough at the start: it looked to be a great hall, with golems standing guard in the alcoves, and raised platforms between pillars.  What was not obvious, however, was how the golems would be activated.  Zevran suspected mechanical traps.  Rose warily let him lead, warning him to be careful.  Zevran was the best they had at traps, as well as poisons.  The assassin moved slowly, examining each step with great care and warning the others to step only where he stepped.  He came across the first trap at the first raised platform; he gestured for the others to wait as he pried up the hidden panel and set to work deactivating the mechanism.  Revan, meanwhile, decided she would take the opportunity to study the dormant golems.  She stepped cautiously.  A cursory examination proved that all the golems here were larger than Shale by a few head, and slightly wider as well.  They also lacked the crystals set in its back, but all bore the same runes.  Reaching out with her senses, she felt the lines of energy that ran through them, like electrical wires.  She hypothesized they were lyrium channels, similar to the ones above their heads, but designed to run energies through the golem’s bodies like a nervous system.  The runes seemed to act as code, giving purpose to the energy, dictating how it acted.  Curious, she took out a lightsaber and seared away part of a rune on the back of one’s hand.  The rune immediately went dark, and the hand went limp, but the rest of the golem flared to life: a defense mechanism.  Revan quickly threw it backwards with the Force, unbalancing it, and stabbed through the runes on its forehead with the blazing hot blade.  The entirety of the golem went dark and collapsed.  The rest of the party aimed annoyed glares at her – they were all tired of fighting – but Zevran merely smirked and went back to work as she shrugged sheepishly by way of explanation.  It was tedious work, and he found two more concealed traps, but eventually they made it through the trap room, unscathed.  Even Sten seemed impressed by the elf’s abilities as Rose commended him.

The last trap room was different.  It was a large cavern, crystal tendrils of raw, glowing lyrium hanging like roots from the ceiling.  It was beautiful.  The eerie song thrummed louder here, the melody stronger, but Revan’s attention was torn from the lyrium to the contraption in the middle that drew upon its energy.  It was a carved pillar sitting atop a stone dais, surrounded by infused anvils, with the bottom of the pillar carved in a series of snarling faces.  The eyes of those faces crackled with magical energy.  From each of the mouths of the faces, a bolt of energy shot out, taking the form of a dwarven shade.  Whoever Caridin had been, he had possessed a grasp of magical theory that few mages rivaled.  These shades were not spirits of the Fade, but manifestations of memory, given ethereal life by the lyrium.   Revan guessed this trial involved defeating the spirits and then somehow using the anvils to destroy or neutralize the faces.

It turned out that Revan was mostly correct.  They engaged the ephemeral dwarven warriors, their weapons doing no damage to the memory of the dwarves but their phantom weapons doing damage to them.  Revan and Morrigan exchanged glances and fell back, focusing their efforts on their comrades’ weapons to infuse them with energy from the Fade.  Opening herself to the Fade was always a challenge to Revan, as the ability was not one she had been born with, and it took all of her focus to keep the energy flowing.  Spirits of the Fade began whispering to her, demons, mostly, but upon seeing into her mind most fled.  They had no interest in possessing someone who was sharing a soul with an Archdemon.  However, their exertions seemed to have an effect, as the magically-infused weapons began making the shades howl in pain.  Rose managed to pierce one through where its heart would have been, and it vanished with a flash of light.  Rose, gritting her teeth, then struck the anvil nearest her with the tip of her blade.  As steel connected with iron, a bolt of energy shot past the young Warden and hit the face on the pillar opposite it.  The crackling energy in its eyes was blown out like a flame, but the eyes then started weeping blood.  The pillars turned, and more spirits were summoned.  The one from the bleeding eyes seemed angrier than its brethren, and attacked more viciously.  Shale took the brunt of its blows, positioning itself between the angry shade and the others.  Shale was the only one that did not have to be infused, as its crystals and design allowed the golem to battle these magics.  Fortunately, the shades seemed bound to the platform, and ignored Revan and Morrigan standing slightly off it.  The others fought in segmented groups, deciding to split up and tackle the spirits in pairs; Rose with Alistair, Sten with Shale, and the dwarves forced together.  Zevran, partner-less, darted between all of them, striking from behind and otherwise taking advantage of their enemies.  Each time a shade was defeated in a wave of light, someone would strike the anvil, and the face would either start crying blood or, after, fall dark altogether.  As the last anvil was struck opposite the last crying face, a wave of magical energy flowed from the pillar, shaking the room and passing over them in a shockwave, and then…silence.  Revan let go of her hold on the Fade, exhausted.  Her companions seemed no better off.

Grudgingly, they made their way to the door nestled in the side of the cavern.  The last trap had proven the most complex, and all dreaded what the next trap would be like.  However, as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, they found themselves standing in front of a doorway that led to a vast cavern, so vast that they could not see the far wall.  Pillars hung suspended far overhead, farther than the unaided eye could discern.  Magma fell from fissures in the nearest walls like waterfalls, collecting in a river of lava below the plateau they found themselves walking on.  Lyrium veins glowed coldly in sharp contrast to the warm light of the molten magma.  And, at the edge of the plateau, a dais with a large, lyrium-suffused anvil.  But before them stood a row of golems leading to two more golems that flanked one larger than any they had met previously, and made completely of steel.

Rose approached cautiously, holding her shield out before her in expectation of an ambush or another test.  The rest followed her warily, ready to absorb her back in their ranks and take up defensive positions.  But the golems around them made no move to attack.  Instead, the gigantic steel one took a step forward and intoned its head.

“My name is Caridin,” the steel golem announced in a metallic voice.  Revan’s brow furrowed; Caridin had supposedly died centuries ago.  “Once, longer than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar.”

“Caridin?  The Paragon smith?  Alive?” Shale asked incredulously.

“Ah, there is a voice I recognize,” Caridin’s voice smiled, even if he could not.  “Shayle of House Cadash, step forward.”

Shayle stepped forward unthinkingly.  “You…know my name?  Is it you that forged me, then?  Is it you that gave me my name?”

“Have you forgotten, then?” the Paragon sighed.  “It has been so long.  I made you into the golem you are now, Shayle, but before you were a dwarf…just as I was.  The finest warrior to serve King Valtor, and the only woman to volunteer.”

“The only…woman?  A dwarf?” Shayle struggled with the new information.

“I laid you on the Anvil of the Void, here in this very room, and put you into the form you now possess,” Caridin explained.  He sounded pained.

“The Anvil of the Void…” Shayle tried putting the pieces of its…her missing memories into place.  “That is what we seek.”

“If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it,” the Paragon said with a weariness Revan recognized.  “Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void.  It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier.  As an army, they were invincible.  But I told no one the cost.  No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life.  To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.”

Revan’s blood turned cold.  At first, as Caridin recounted his tale, she had thought that he had discovered how to create a droid, much as her people had done eons ago.  All such a creation took was some energy and some code.  But it dawned on the Jedi that the people of Thedas had never discovered electricity, nor any energy besides heat and magic.  They were reliant on lyrium.  And, the desperation caused by the Blights and the never-ending wars would have made the development of droids near impossible.  Of course, the smith had taken a shortcut.

“You are wrong.  There is a way to create the semblance of life, if not life itself,” Revan was compelled to speak, memories of HK-47 and T3-M4 refuting his claims.  “But you did not take the time to discover it.”

“The darkspawn were pressing in,” Caridin continued, justifying his carelessness.  “Originally I only took volunteers, the bravest of souls willing to trade their very lives for the chance to defend their homeland.  But King Valtor became greedy.  He began to force men…casteless and criminals…his political enemies…all of them were to be given to the Anvil.  It took feeling the hammer’s blow myself to realize the height of my crimes.  Not revenge.  The blow of the hammer opened my eyes.  My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod.  I retained my mind.”  The smith turned his attention back to Shayle.  “You were amongst the most loyal, Shayle.  You remained at my side throughout, and at the end I sent you away out of mercy.”

Shayle seemed anguished.  “I…do not remember.”

“We have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil.  Alas, I cannot do it myself.  No golem can touch it,” Caridin explained.

“No!  The Anvil is mine!  No one will take it from me!” the screeching voice of the other Paragon echoed in the cavern as she rushed in.  Revan frowned as she realized Branka had followed them and she had not noticed.

“Shayle!  You fought to destroy the Anvil once!” Caridin turned to his old friend with a plea of desperation.  “Do not allow it to fall into unthinking hands again!”

The smaller golem still seemed conflicted.  “You speak of things I do not remember.  You say we fought…did you use our control rods to command us to do so?”

“I destroyed the rods!” the ancient smith declared.  “Perhaps my apprentices eventually learned to replace the rods, I do not know, but if so, then all they need is the Anvil to make all the slaves they need!”  Caridin turned toward Rose.  “You!  Please…help me destroy the Anvil!  Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!”

 _Slaves_ …Revan turned to look at the golems around her.  They had all once been people.  Some had not chosen this fate willingly.  She had spent her entire life fighting slavery, fighting to free those in chains.  But some part of her, the Sith Lord in her, whispered to her.  The golems had almost stopped the Blights in their entirety.  They were an unstoppable army, droids with even less temperament issues, completely under the command of the wielder of the control rod.  The dwarves could reclaim their kingdom with the Anvil of the Void.  They could defeat Urthemiel.  It would guarantee them victory.

But at what cost?

Revan locked eyes with Rose at that moment.  Both had thought the same question.  And both had determined the same answer.

Rose turned back to Caridin.  “You were a Paragon.  I’ll help if you support a new king.”

“Don’t listen!” Branka cried out.  “He’s been trapped here for a thousand years, stewing in his own madness.  Help me claim the Anvil, and you will have an army like you’ve never seen!”

Rose wavered, but Oghren intervened just in time.  “Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail.  Does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?”

“Look around,” Branka gestured.  “Is this what our empire should look like?  A crumbling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume?  The Anvil will let us take back our glory!”

“The Anvil enslaves living souls!” Revan shouted back, fists clenched.  “People, Branka!  People like Hespith!  It must be destroyed!”

“So it fights with Caridin?” Shayle regarded her.  “Good.  That seems right.”

Morrigan stared at Revan, uncomprehending.  “Have you no desire to discover this Anvil’s potential?  It is a marvel, a tool of creation!  You could rival the Maker Himself with this instrument!  If you insist on destroying the Anvil, I swear you will regret it.”

“For once, I find myself agreeing with Morrigan,” Zevran spoke up.  “Living souls suffer all the time.  Peasants working the land are trapped, but we do not go about destroying farmland, do we?  It just seems a waste to destroy the Anvil, given what it could do.”

Revan turned on her friends, her eye burning.  They recoiled instinctively, flinching as they realized how visceral her reaction had been.  The air around her began to heat, and the lyrium’s song grew louder.  “Then you are fools.  Nothing is worth the cost of enslavement.  And this…this is the worst kind, to be stripped of all that defines you.  How would you like to be stripped of all free will, all thought and emotion, bound to stone for eternity?  Fight to save the Anvil if you think it will save us, but I cannot allow it to exist.”

They cowed before her.  Shame crossed their eyes.  They did not know; how could they?  They had not been enslaved as she had.  Perhaps Zevran had been close, being sold to the Crows, but that was, as he admitted, a gilded cage.  They had not seen the horrors she had.  They had never been worthless.  They had never been shackled and stripped of all freedoms.  They had never been made to carry out another’s will without choice.  She had.

Caridin turned his eerily glowing eyes to the Jedi.  “Thank you, stranger.  Your compassion shames me.”

“Bah!” Branka spit.  “You are not the only master smith here, Caridin!”  From her belt, she drew a long, carved item with a crystal at its head and raised it above hers.  “Golems, obey me!  Attack!”

“A control rod!” the steel golem exclaimed as Revan barred her teeth.  “But…my friends, you must help me!  I cannot stop her alone!”

Rose looked flustered, but she had chosen Caridin’s side.  Alistair stood with his lover, and Sten stood with his redeemer.  Oghren seemed torn, as this was his wife, but he took a position near Rose.  Duran already had his sword drawn.  Morrigan and Zevran hesitated, their pragmatic side warring with Revan’s impassioned words, but they moved towards Revan as she ignited her blades, guilted by the fury and outrage that burned in her eye.  The golems that had lined their entrance to the cavern came to life with burning eyes, falling in behind Branka.  She held the control rod like a sword, keeping her shield in front of her.  She was not a warrior, she was a smith, but years in the Deep Roads had sharpened her skills.  Revan targeted her, for if the Jedi could destroy the control rod, they would not have to fight a squad of golems.  She first tried pulling it out of Branka’s hands with the Force, but the woman had a vice-like grip on the rod and refused to let Revan, despite her power, take it from her.  Revan would have to remove it physically.

The golems charged.  The warriors of the group, Rose and Alistair and Duran and Sten, all charged with cries of resolve and defiance.  Only Oghren hung back, but the bloodlust soon consumed him and he ran screaming for the nearest enslaved soul.  The golem on their side, Shayle, rushed in wordlessly, wrestling with her brethren as the warriors aimed to cut off the heads of the enthralled golems.  They were lucky Branka’s control rod had no effect on Shayle, though it seemed that Branka was able to hold Caridin in place and render him immobile.  It was only after the others engaged that Morrigan and Zevran exchanged resigned glances before Morrigan changed into a bronto once again and Zevran began circling the golems, taking advantage when one of the warriors tried to strike to clamor onto the golem’s back and strike its rune on its head, just as Revan had done in the trap room.  Revan ignored the golems.  Instead, she wove between them toward Branka.  Branka realized that a raging human with glowing blades of fire was a significant threat to her, so she called back three golems to block the Jedi’s approach.  Revan threw one lightsaber in a curved arc, guided by the Force, towards one’s head while she jumped at one’s chest.  The thrown saber easily lopped off the head of its target, but Branka was smart.  The third golem came in from the side, intending to knock Revan out of the way to spare the other golem.  It nearly succeeded, and Revan had to push off of the golem’s chest immediately lest she get smacked by the third’s fist.  She tried the lightsaber trick again, but Branka was ready for it and the golems ducked in time.  Revan silently cursed.  She was running out of energy to deal with two more golems alone.  She had barely managed to evade the golem in the poison gas room.  Meanwhile, her companions were not doing much better, as Branka’s tactics were aggressive and did not allow for their customary teamwork.  The warriors were being forced on the defensive.

Something thrummed at the back of Revan’s mind as she rolled and dove between the blows from the golems who blocked her way to Branka.  As one slammed both fists into the ground, the rock beneath them shook and cracked.  Revan managed to retain her balance by crouching in a low stance near the ground.  She looked up to see if there was an opening as the golem recovered, but she noticed something much better.  The fissures from the attack were glowing with a cold blue light.  The song in the back of her skull grew louder.  They were fighting on top of a lyrium deposit.

Revan did not know much about lyrium.  Since she had only recently been able to tap into the Fade, she had not had much opportunity to use the lyrium dust and potions that mages often used to supplement their powers.  When she had traveled with the Architect, he had made a point of avoiding lyrium deposits, as they often attracted dwarves and others desirous of the valuable resource.  However, she knew that lyrium in its raw form was extremely toxic, causing those not careful to lose their minds and become mad.  For mages, contact could prove lethal.

She also knew that raw lyrium was incredibly volatile.

She reached out to the vein of lyrium.  It was strong, and the song it sang shook her more than the golem’s blows.  She felt like she was going to vibrate out of existence as she tapped it.  It extended deep, deeper than she could explore without losing herself.  Instead, she focused on the branches nearest her, those that the golems and Branka stood upon.  Branka was the key to this battle.  She met Branka’s eyes between the sides of the golems.  The Paragon’s eyes widened as she realized what her plan was.  Branka cried out as Revan infused the lyrium near the surface with her energy.  It was almost like opening herself to the Fade, but this time she was giving energy, not drawing upon it.  The lyrium glowed brighter, and then, almost without warning, it exploded.

The lyrium exploded in a flash of bluish-white light.  Revan barely managed to raise a Force barrier around herself before the magical energy and accompanying shockwave reached her.  She dropped to a knee, braced, and shielded her eye as the explosion buffeted her shield, the force of the explosion greater than she had anticipated.  Luckily, Revan had only targeted a small capillary.  The explosion did not extend to her companions, but she could feel many of them knocked back by the shock.  Branka and the golems in front of Revan vanished in the light.  Her vision was spotty, the brief flash of light she had seen upon detonation having been strong enough to temporarily blind her.  The return shock came, blowing her back toward the explosion, but then the energy began to dissipate.  Revan hesitantly raised her head and cracked her eye open.  The golems under Branka’s control had ceased fighting.  Her companions stood, dazed by the sudden explosion that had rocked the room.  Several distant stalactites had fallen from the ceiling.  Before her, rock fragments were scattered where the golems had once stood, and an empty set of armor laid next to a shattered control rod and a shield of Paragon make.

As soon as Oghren had teetered to his feet, he ran to Revan’s side.  “Branka!”  He came to a halt by the Jedi, still kneeling on the ground, and looked at the remains of his wife.  He did not fall to his knees and weep, nor did he rage or yell or tear at his beard.  He merely stared, then took a deep breath and hung his head.  This had been a long time coming.  Oghren had known for years that his wife’s obsessive quest could only end one way.

Caridin approached, his lumbering body shaking the ground as he walked.  The others were next to him.  Rose came to stand on the other side of Oghren and laid a calloused hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.  Rose knew that now was not the time to say words of comfort.  That was later.

“Another life lost because of my invention,” Caridin said sadly.  “I wish no mention of it had made it into history.”

“Yeah, you ain’t kidding,” Oghren said bitterly.  “Stupid woman!  Always knew the Anvil would kill her.”

Shayle looked to her ancient friend with something resembling confusion.  “How is it that the woman was not able to disable me as she did you, Caridin?”

“I do not know,” the Paragon responded.  “Have you been altered?”

“I once had a pathetic little mage of a master.  He…did something to me.  Experimented on me.  And then I killed him and it rendered me paralyzed,” Shayle admitted.

Caridin considered.  “Perhaps he was bringing forth old memories?  And caused you to remember the time when…you fought at my side.  The paralysis you speak of always resulted when the master perished.  As for your free will…you were always a strong woman, Shayle.  I am pleased to see you remained such.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Shayle responded.  “Thank you.”

The Paragon sighed.  “Do not thank me.  All of this…this is my doing, my legacy.  But at least it ends here.  I thank you for standing with me, strangers.  The Anvil waits there for you to shatter it.”

Morrigan and Zevran looked uncomfortable with the idea, but both looked at Revan, exchanged a look between them, and remained silent, though they bore sullen expressions.  They might disagree with destroying something so powerful, but Revan had made a decision and she would not back down.

Caridin hesitated.  “Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid?  A final favor before I am freed from my burden?”

The group looked to Rose, their chosen leader.  She looked at each of them in turn, pursing her lips in thought, but her eyes rested on Oghren.  “Oghren?  You lost Branka to this.  What do you want?”

“Huh.”  Oghren contemplated his options.  “Don’t suppose you can bring Branka back?  Maybe make her a golem, like you?”

“I would not do such a thing to her even if I could,” Caridin responded simply.

Oghren grunted.  “Somehow I didn’t think so.  Then I don’t want anything that would remind me of…this.  Best it’s just done.  There…is still the matter of the election.  I mean…we still need a Paragon to get the Assembly’s support, right?”

“For the aid you’ve given me,” Caridin began, “I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice.”

Revan, Rose, and Alistair all looked at Oghren appreciatively for having set aside his grief for the mission.  As Rose and Alistair walked with Caridin to the Anvil, Revan stayed with Oghren by the site of the explosion.  After all, Revan had ultimately struck the killing blow, albeit indirectly.  She took responsibility for Branka’s death.

“For what it is worth,” Revan said in a low voice, “I am truly sorry.  I wish it had not had to end like this.”

Oghren did not respond.  He merely grunted, then turned away.  The group set up a temporary camp as Caridin worked, making food and recovering from their exertions.  Morrigan seemed ruffled and stayed well away from the others, content instead to continue reading her mother’s grimoire.  She obviously was still trying to understand Revan’s reasons.  After all, Revan was practical, logical, and pragmatic.  Reason dictated that she should have advocated for the preservation of the Anvil, despite the long term consequences.  And yet, Revan had rejected it, and rejected it quite emotionally.  She was still trying to process those emotions when Zevran came and sat next to her as she oiled her gloves.

“You owe me an explanation, Revan,” he said, not unkindly.  “Saving the Anvil would have ended the Blight.  Why?”

Revan stared at the vambrace.  “I cannot abide slavery in any form.”

“I mean, yes, slavery is bad and all that, but it exists, in Tevinter and in the Crows and in the serfs plowing the fields of their liege lords,” the assassin pointed out.

Revan fixed her eye on him.  “Does that make it right?”

“No, but it is the way of the world,” he countered.

“Should we not try to make the world better?” she asked.  “I might have come back to right my wrongs, but I will not do so by creating more wrongs.”

“Why do you care so much?” he prodded.  “Why does it matter if the dwarves become slaves?  Is that really so wrong if it saves lives?”

“Because I was a slave,” Revan replied quietly.  “No one deserves that fate.”

Zevran was silenced.  She continued oiling the leather as he searched for words.  It was several minutes before he thought of something.  “Revan…I didn’t know.”

“Of course you did not,” she put down the gauntlet.  “I did not tell you.  I do not like speaking of it.”

“When…?”

“When I was a child.  And again when my mind was enslaved during the war.”

He was quiet again.  “I take it, it wasn’t much like Crow training?”

“From what you’ve told me?  No,” she shook her head.  “I do not dismiss that what you had to do was awful, but you cannot know what it is like for your mind to not be your own, or to watch the people that raised you slaughtered as a warning to not rise above your station.”

Zevran tucked his braids behind his pointed ears, a nervous tick he had when he did not know how to respond.  “That is…quite different.”

They sat in awkward silence.  Revan did not want to speak anymore on her enslavement, either to the plantation owner or to the Sith Emperor.  She had put it behind her.  Zevran noticed her taciturn demeanor and respected her enough to not question her further.  However, Revan could tell that he had more on his mind.  She waited patiently.

“I am sorry,” he finally admitted.  “I understand now.”

Revan looked up at him and gave him a thin smile.  “Thank you.  I would hate for you to be cross with me.  I do care what you think, you know.”

He smiled back at her.  “I know.”

In the distance, the pounding of the hammer ceased.  Caridin had finished his crown.  He presented it to Rose, who took the metal creation gingerly.  They exchanged a few words before Rose passed the crown to Alistair and took the forge hammer from Caridin.  She looked at it, tested its weight, hefted it over her head, and with a great blow brought it down on the Anvil of the Void.  A wave of magical energy was released as the Anvil was destroyed, and the pieces of the Anvil fell apart.  Caridin bowed to her, then walked to the edge of the precipice that plunged into the swirling, simmering magma below, and fell.  It was over.

* * *

 

Revan sat with a loud grunt next to Oghren, who was staring into the flames of their campfire.  They were a day out from Bownammar, where they would meet up with the Legion of the Dead for an escort back to Orzammar.  It was getting hard to sleep again, but luckily their journey back had been relatively darkspawn free.  However, their dwarven companion was in miserable spirits after the death of his wife.  He had been sulking since they had left, and he refused to talk to anyone about his grief.  The Jedi knew that everyone processed grief differently, but it was beginning to take a toll on his combat effectiveness.  He was plunging headfirst into any darkspawn they met, as if embracing death.  So, Revan and Rose had discussed, and Revan had offered to talk to him.  Especially since she had been the one to drag Oghren on this expedition, and to kill Branka.

He grunted as she sat, but otherwise said nothing.  So, Revan reached in her pack and retrieved a dark bottle with a stained paper label.  She pulled out the cork and handed it to Oghren wordlessly.

“What’s this?” he glared at the bottle.

“We call it ‘Conscription Ale’, or ‘Grey Whiskey’,” she explained.  “It’s a Grey Warden tradition.  We are allowed to seize goods and foodstuffs while traveling, and often that includes various alcohols.  Wardens collect it in their own personal bottles, which eventually take on their own taste.”

Oghren hesitantly took the bottle and inspected it.  “‘Vintage: Warden Dragonheart.  To leave the past behind.’  Hah, clever.”  He raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed.  His nose rankled.  “Ugh, Ancestor’s piss, what did you put in this?”

“Well, considering I got this bottle on the way from the Brecilian Forest to Highever, I believe it is a combination of several Ferelden ales and lagers, plus an Orlesian wine I swiped after a meal at Teyrn Cousland’s manor, combined with a stolen Chantry sacrament wine and some of your terrible dwarven fungal ale.”

Oghren eyed her suspiciously.  “Didn’t you say that I would have to remain sober?”

Revan shrugged.  “You lost your wife.  I think this would count as an acceptable exception.”

The dwarf held her gaze for a moment before turning back to the bottle.  He raised it to his lips and took a deep draught.  He came up coughing.  Revan smiled.

“Ancestors, that’s right awful.”

“Nothing burns like the first cup,” Revan winked, taking the bottle back and taking a swig herself.  She coughed afterwards as well.  The brew was toxic, tasting as foul as it smelled.  She passed the bottle back.

Eventually, after several drafts, Oghren began talking.  It was about small things, first.  The little things in their marriage that Oghren had adored.  The things that irked him.  He spoke of their fights and their triumphs.  He talked about how he had met Branka.  It poured out of him like the drink poured out of the bottle.  Revan listened empathetically.  She knew loss.  She did not say a word as he spoke, until he finally had said all the words he had been holding back.  He took a deep breath and an even deeper swill.  He seemed more bent, now.  More broken.  But he was no longer holding his emotions back.  His rage was no longer fueling him.  Now he was just tired and grief-stricken.  She understood.  She took another drink as they sat in companionable silence.

“How can you drink so much of that?” Oghren asked, his words starting to slur.  “It’s right awful.”

She winked.  “This is nothing.  You should try Orga root wine.  It knocked me clean out the first time I tried it, at a celebration for my friend.  It is drunk by these creatures called Wookies, who are as tall as Sten is and completely covered in hair.  They can rip a man’s arm clean off without trying.  Anyway, first time I tried it, I thought I would vomit, it was so disgusting, but instead I blacked out and woke up naked, surrounded by Wookies.”

Oghren practically spit out his drink.  “What!?”

She laughed at his shocked expression.  “I am not nearly as innocent as you might expect.”

He seemed to appreciate that.  They drank for another hour, until both were intoxicated to the point of staggering.  Zevran, who had been lurking nearby, scowling when she made a ribald comment or shared a scandalous story, approached when they were trying to return to their bedrolls.  He slung her arm around his shoulder, even though his ribs were still tender, and helped carry her to bed.  Even being this close to Urthemiel, as soon as her head hit the thin pillow, she fell asleep, drunk and exhausted.  Her dreams were plagued by shadowy thoughts and vague images.  A dragon as large as an Archdemon.  A man who looked suspiciously like Alistair, but older.  A boat in a storm-tossed sea.  A man standing in front of a transparent window, staring at stars.  An old woman with blind eyes.  A library, suspended upside down.  A moon that blinked like an eye.  A wolf with six eyes.

And lastly, Urthemiel, flying overhead, screaming in frustration.  Tense with anticipation.  The time was nearing.

She awoke from the dream and immediately felt something was off.  Before she could react, the alcohol still inhibiting her, a hand clamped down over her mouth.  The hand was cold and hard, as if belonging to a corpse.  Revan’s eye snapped open.  Fear and panic struck her.  She tried scrambling away, tried reaching out with the Force, but her wrists were bound in some sort of cold metal.  She could not feel the Force.  She could not see out of her dead eye.  Her second sight was gone.  Panic rose in her throat.  No Force!  The world felt dead to her now that she could not feel the energy around her.  Above her were two faces.  One was white, a skull with skin stretched taught over it, its nose gone if it had ever been formed and veins pulsing black.  It growled in a low register at her, barring its teeth as it stared at her with those white, dead eyes.  It was a darkspawn.  But it did not attack.  It deferred to its companion: a dwarven female, her head bald, patches of corruption covering her skin.  Her clouded eyes, however, were focused.  And they were filled with hate as they stared down at Revan.

The Jedi could not scream as the woman raised her sword and drove it down on Revan’s temple.  The world went black.


End file.
